A Fresh Start
by sneakyslytherin.severus
Summary: Hermione returns to Hogwarts to complete her seventh year only to find that along with most of her friends, Draco Malfoy has decided to re-do his last year as well. Sensing a change in the former Death Eater, Hermione attempts to help Draco and shield him from the abuse of other students. Can Draco actually make a fresh start, or will he be forever branded by his past?
1. Going Back Home

A/N: Here's chapter one of my newest story! Right now this is rated "T", but I may up the rating in later chapters just to be safe. Reviews would be really appreciated, as they help to feed the muse. :) My goal for this fiction is to update twice a week, hopefully, but I _am_ in high school and my homework (unfortunately) takes priority. Please R&R, and enjoy the new Dramione! :)

Chapter One:

It felt a bit wrong, not taking the Hogwarts Express back to Scotland that year. Hermione had unpacked and repacked her trunk at least a dozen times and was anxiously watching the clock in her flat, waiting for her portkey to activate. She knew that right now hundreds of eager students would be boarding the smoking, bright-red locomotive, buying chocolate frogs and Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans, eagerly awaiting their arrival back at their school. Parents would smile as they sent their children away because everyone knew that for the first time in seven years, it would be a truly peaceful school year. Or, at least that's what Hermione hoped.

Opening her trunk again, Hermione riffled around for her hairbrush and triumphantly found it close to the bottom. She walked quickly to her bathroom, and brushed her hair for the zillionth time since she woke up. At eighteen, Hermione was a bit more self-conscious about her looks than she had been at age eleven. As a result, her hair was no longer frizzy or out of control; now it would be described as 'curly', or 'wavy', and it was often pulled back into a simple ponytail. The rest of Hermione's appearance hadn't changed much; she'd retained her good figure, as well as her pale, freckled skin (her freckles being the bane of her existence), and her brown eyes which were now surrounded by light make-up. Arching a single black, bushy eyebrow, Hermione said to herself, "Well, that's about as good as it's going to get."

When Hermione returned her hairbrush to her trunk, she noticed that Professor McGonagall's letter had ended up on the top of her bag. Hermione plucked out the worn envelope and re-read the note for the hundredth time.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Although I'm sure you're positively tired of hearing it, I'd like to extend my congratulations to you for your remarkable courage and incredible display of intelligence during the battle against Voldemort. I always knew that you were a special witch, and that you'd do remarkable things with your life._

_However, your life has only just begun! The specially offered "eighth year" at Hogwarts over the next three semesters is designed for your year to complete their education officially and properly; no dark magic, no all-year absences, and no need to fear for your safety. Hogwarts will be fully repaired by the start of term, however you will not be returning to Gryffindor Tower. Special accommodations will be made. Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms will be mandatory courses, while Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Astronomy, Arithmancy, and History of Magic will be optional. _

_If you do not wish to complete your education to the fullest extent possible – Minister Shacklebolt's "Young Auror Recruitment Program" offering many the chance to jump-start their careers – that is also completely acceptable. Please send me an owl as to whether or not you would like to be enrolled in this year's special program by July twenty-ninth at the latest. Should you accept, a portkey will be sent to bring you past the Hogwarts apparition barriers._

_Have a wonderful summer, and do try not to get into trouble dear._

_Warmest wishes,_

_Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Order of Merlin First Class_

When Ron had gotten his letter from McGonagall, he'd immediately thrown it into the rubbish bin; he'd already accepted Shacklebolt's request to join the Auror corps, and due to Ron's admirable performance during the Battle of Hogwarts he was granted immediate admission. Harry, however, had dithered. One day he'd want to be an auror, the next he'd decided that he wanted to go back to Hogwarts…..Hermione was very confused as to what her friend had actually decided. _But Neville and Luna are coming! _Hermione thought happily. _And Ginny, and Dean, and Seamus….Ginny will be there, but she'll be with her age-group, finishing her seventh year….._

Shaking her head, Hermione placed the letter back in the trunk, picked up her portkey – a single silver knitting needle- and resumed her pacing. She was due to leave in just one minute, but she was terrified that for some reason she'd miss her window. She couldn't imagine actually having a peaceful year at Hogwarts, and the thought of finally finishing one year without Voldemort hovering over her head left Hermione feeling both nauseous and excited. _Surely something has to go wrong_, she thought anxiously. _I mean, it wouldn't be Hogwarts if something exciting and dangerous didn't happen! _

Hermione yelped when she realized that the knitting needle in her hand was heating up – the ten-second to departure warning. Grabbing onto her trunk with her left hand, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. _I really hate travelling by portkey, _she thought to herself, just as she felt the horrible sickening whoosh that meant she had left her flat and was en route to Hogwarts.

The spinning sensation lasted for longer than usual, as it was a pretty long distance from inner-city London to the outskirts of Northern Scotland. Clutching her bag, knuckles white, Hermione started counting backwards from one hundred. She had just reached "twenty-seven" when her ears started to pop, an indication that she was about to land at Hogwarts.

"Damn," she said quietly, pulling her bag closer and curling up. "I never did perfect my landing technique – oomph!"

With a loud "thud" Hermione landed gracelessly onto soft, dew-covered grass. Immediately, the smell of Hogwarts – rain, earth, cinnamon, and parchment – assaulted Hermione's nose. Uncurling her arms from around her trunk, she flipped over onto her back and spread her arms and legs. Her eyes closed, she turned her head to face the sun, feeling the warmth seeping into her bones. _I'm home_, she thought happily, and a smile played across her lips.

"Trying to make a snow angel?" an unfamiliar male voice said. Hermione shot upright, her wand drawn and her eyes snapping open. "It's awfully early in the season to hope for snow."

Coming fully to her feet, Hermione spun slowly around. She immediately realized that she was in the middle of the quidditch pitch, so she quickly erected a bubble shield around her exposed position. "Who's there?" Hermione called out, her voice calm and detached sounding, echoing around the eerily empty stadium. Thoughts of masked, black-cloaked men, and aspiring Dark Lords swirled around her thoughts, and an icy fear settled in her chest.

"You don't recognize the sound of my voice?" the mysterious wizard said, sounding mildly disappointed.

"Honestly, no," Hermione deadpanned, casting silent charms that would disable any invisibility charms or concealing potions. Still seeing no one, she frowned. Where was this guy?

"That's rather depressing," the voice said bitterly. "I've known you since you were eleven."

Hermione lowered her wand slightly. "You're a Hogwarts student?" she said, her eyes flickering around where the massive timbres held the stands above the playing field. A person could easily hide behind the larger-than-life wooden pillars.

"…Ooh, are we going to play a game of questions?" the voice said sarcastically.

Hermione blinked slowly as she crept towards the pillar nearest her. "Well I'm at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Oblige me?" Hermione waited anxiously to see if she had bought herself time to figure out who this mystery speaker was.

"Four questions left, Granger," the voice said slowly. "Use them well."

Hermione ears perked up at the use of her old nickname. _Who would know that? Well, anyone from Hogwarts, really…. _"Alright," she said quickly, whipping around the first pillar to see that no one was there. "What house were you in?"

"Ah-ah-ah," the voice warned, "I can only answer yes or no. You just wasted a question, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she slunk through the shadows to the pillar on her left. "Fine. Never mind. Umm…are you in my year?"

There was a silence. "You know, you're quite dim-witted for the cleverest witch of your age. Yes, I am in your year. Two questions left."

No one was behind the third or fourth pillars Hermione checked either. There was something nagging and familiar about this voice, though – the memory was clear, the face that belonged to the voice skirting around the edges of her memory. Tapping her wand thoughtfully against her cheek as she rounded another pillar, Hermione tried to think of questions that wouldn't potentially offend her mystery companion. "Have you ever played wizard's chess?" she asked tentatively, hoping that the voice would answer to the negative. Giving that answer would mean that he had to be a Hufflepuff, since the badger-affiliated house was the only one that avoided such 'brutal' and 'conniving' past-times. Although if she was honest with herself, she was fairly certain that her tormentor was _not _a kind and good-natured Hufflepuff.

"Of course I have!" the voice replied, sending Hermione's hopes plummeting. "What do you think I am, a Puff? Last question."

Hermione sighed. "I can't do anything good with one question!" she said, exasperated.

"…is that your question?" the voice asked, a laugh barely hidden in his tone. "Can you do anything good with your last question?"

Hermione grinned despite herself. "So you're not a Hufflepuff," she said aloud, walking to check behind the last pillar. "And you're definitely _not _a Gryffindor -"

"How do you know?" the voice asked. "I could just be a particularly clever Gryffindor."

Hermione let out a very un-ladylike snort. "Yeah, not so much."

The voice laughed, the noise bouncing around the empty pitch. "I think you just insulted your own house, Granger."

Hermione rounded the last pillar, and was disappointed to realize that no one was there. Frowning, Hermione walked back out to the middle of the field. "I still have that last question, yes?" she asked, an idea forming roughly in her mind.

"I suppose so," the voice said snidely. "You're lucky that I'm in a good mood, Lion."

That cemented Hermione's theory. Allowing herself to smile satisfactorily, Hermione closed her eyes and listened. In the silence of the quidditch pitch, all that she could hear was her own breathing. Well….that and the faint but unmistakable sound of fabric rustling in the wind. Hermione opened her eyes and grinned. "You're hovering above me on a broom, yes or no?" she asked, reveling in the voice's shocked silence.

"How could you tell?" the voice asked quietly, and Hermione could hear the "whoosh" noise of a broom gliding through the air, heading for the ground.

"I'm good at listening," she said smugly, watching a cloaked and hooded figure come to rest on the pitch beside her. "It's a side effect of spending too much time hiding in silence."

The hood that her mystery-voice-man wore disturbed Hermione; although it was just a Hogwarts student robe, there was no house-colour trim. Rather, the robe was just a solid black. It reminded Hermione far too much of the Death Eater robes, and she had to suppress a shiver. "Can you pull down your hood, please?" she asked quietly, spinning her wand lightly at her side.

Dismounting, the figure reached a hand up to the back of his hood. His shoulders were slumped, and Hermione thought that the man looked defeated, almost morose. When the man dropped back his hood, Hermione gasped. The bright blue eyes of Draco Malfoy glared balefully back at her, challenging Hermione to say something to break the tense silence. His blonde hair was no longer slicked back with copious amounts of gel, but was left to hang loosely around his face, and his robes seemed to hang off of a far-too-thin frame. Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times. _MALFOY!? _her mind shrieked. _WHAT THE HELL IS DRACO MALFOY DOING HERE?_

"Miss Granger," Draco said politely, inclining his head slowly. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

Malfoy's cordial remark snapped Hermione out of her stunned silence. "Mister Malfoy," she said slowly, tilting her head. "What brings you to Scotland?"

Draco's lips quirked up into a strange half-smile. "Why, I'm here for the same program as you, I'd expect," he drawled. "I'm here to re-do my last year."

"You?" Hermione hissed, letting her emotions get the better of her. "Why on earth would _you _choose to re-do your last year? I'd have thought that the previous administration would have been perfectly suited to the kind of education you wished to receive."

The pained expression in Draco's eyes made Hermione instantly regret her words. "Well," Draco said far too quietly, using none of his usual sarcasm, "I guess I'm just full of surprises."

Hermione hung her head, a blush rapidly colouring her cheeks. "Umm, right," she said awkwardly, reaching over to pick up her trunk. "Do you need to go back to the castle?"

Snapping his head up, Draco's eyes regained their steely, aloof expression. But, in Hermione's opinion, his expression wasn't quite as arrogant as it used to be. There was something sad, something buried deep within those eyes that Hermione couldn't quite place.

"I had planned on returning to the castle, yes," Draco answered, his expression neutral. "I'm not really one for sleeping outside. May I accompany you to the Tower?"

Hermione was confused. _How would Draco get access to the tower where I'm staying? I know it's not Gryffindor Tower, but still…._

Picking up on Hermione's confusion, Malfoy quickly added "All the eighth-years are staying in what McGonagall has named 'Unity Tower'. Since there are so few of us, we're all rooming together and are given no house allegiances."

A light bulb went off in Hermione's head. "That's why your robes have no coloured trim!" she exclaimed. "We're house-less this year!"

Malfoy nodded. There was a long moment of awkward silence before Draco said, "Well, shall we?" and started up the path to the castle.

Hermione followed after him hurriedly. The unlikely pair walked together in silence, Hermione swinging her trunk, Malfoy holding his broom rigidly at his side. When they were moments away from the main doors, however, Hermione let out a seemingly spontaneous giggle. Draco stopped stiffly and turned to face her. "What's so funny, Granger?" he asked, arching a single blonde eyebrow.

Giggling uncontrollably now, Hermione wiped away tears that were forming at the base of her eyes. "Unity Tower?" she gasped. "Who came up with that atrocious name?"

The tension left Draco's expression, and the Slytherin involuntarily allowed himself a small grin before turning to open the main door. "Better than "The Tower of Friendship"," he supplied, before winking and walking into the hallway.

Pausing before she followed her year-mate, Hermione's eyes grew wide. _Did Malfoy just make a joke? And then did he __**wink**__ at me?_ _Good grief, can't we ever just get a normal year at Hogwarts?_

And with that, Hermione followed her former enemy into the place that she had always considered her true home.


	2. New Arrangements

A/N: Ok, Chapter Two! Thanks for all your alerts and reviews, I cherish every single one. Please continue to comment and follow, maybe even favourite! :) :) ~sneakylytherin

Walking up the ever-changing staircases, Hermione examined her new situation. _So, _she thought, carefully eliminating all of her emotion and just focusing on the facts, _I'll be spending the rest of the year in relatively close proximity to Draco Malfoy, who I used to despise. Apparently we're rooming somewhere near each other, with – hopefully – all the other eighth-years. This is a somewhat unexpected turn of events. _A startling thought jumped into Hermione's mind. _Oh Lord, what if more Slytherins show up? Blaise? Goyle? I don't know if I could take a year with them __**and **__Malfoy…. _

"So," Malfoy said, drawing Hermione out of her reverie, "our rooms are in the South-East tower, and we have a new and different security system."

"Oh?" Hermione said, intrigued. "So, it's not a portrait?"

"Your powers of observation are remarkable," Draco said dryly, glancing behind him at a blushing Hermione. "No, it is not a portrait. It's a regular door with keys for each student."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "That seems like we're taking a step or two backwards," she thought aloud, her eyes wandering over the portraits on the walls. "I mean, wouldn't a simple _Alohamora_completely dismantle that system?"

"Although warranted, your lack of faith in the ingenuity of wizard-kind is somewhat depressing." Draco sighed, stopped, and turned around. "See this?" he asked, pulling a small, silver key from his pocket. It was no bigger than Hermione's pinky finger, and was connected to a fine silver chain that was presumably still attached to the inside of Draco's pocket. The handle of the key was a circle, containing an intricately metal-worked raven. "This isn't just a typical muggle key," Draco continued. "It's tuned into its owner's magical frequency, and will only work for that one person. Also, the lock is enchanted so that it only accepts keys that are tuned to the magical frequency of the wizards that it's spelled to admit."

Hermione felt a headache coming on. "That's extremely complex magic," she said, hesitantly touching the end of Draco's key, feeling a mild shock run through her finger. "Did Flitwick design it?"

Draco returned the key to his pocket and shook his head. "No, Flitwick had no part in this. It was a student, actually, who designed it."

"Really?" Hermione asked. "Who?"

Smiling, Draco continued up the stairwell. "I did," he said smugly, his hand subconsciously resting over the pocket where his key was hidden. "I invented it to protect my room at the Manor, so that….well, so that only I could get in."

His uneasy tone and lack of explanation left Hermione with a feeling that Draco was hiding his real motives for creating the locking system. However, she wasn't about to push her luck with her new schoolmate, so she dampened her curiosity and kept her suspicion silent. "That's amazing Draco," Hermione said quietly, looking down at her feet. "You're obviously a very talented wizard."

Silence stretched between the two students as they continued up the stairs, passing dozens of cheering, moving portraits that welcomed Hermione back to Hogwarts. Suddenly, a rather dented and rumpled-looking knight jumped out from behind a skeleton in one painting, shouting "Tally-ho, Miss Granger! Did we get them all?"

Hermione laughed and paused to talk to the knight, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Most of them, Sir Cadogan," she said, seeing Draco stiffen out of the corner of her eye. "There are just a few left, but it's up to the aurors to find them."

"That's wonderful news! However, should you ever need assistance, Lady Granger, my blade is yours," the knight said dramatically, kneeling down and managing to knock the skeleton over onto himself.

Ignoring the knight's valiant struggle to disentangle himself from the very upset skeleton, Hermione said, "Thank you Sir, but I really must be on my way. I'm sure we'll meet again presently."

Leaving the bumbling knight behind her, Hermione caught up to Draco at the head of the stairs. The Slytherin's lips were set into a tight frown, and his eyes were once again glassy and distanced. "Lady Granger," he spat. "Even the portraits fawn over you."

Hermione's cheeks grew red, but her eyes became steely. "I attempt to be nice to everyone I encounter," she said stiffly, "however Sir Cadogan always poses a challenge. He is far too dramatic, and always seems to be making things far more complicated than they have any right to be."

Draco snorted. "Of course. I'm sure you don't enjoy all this praise," he said sarcastically, gesturing to the ridiculously noisy portraits who were all ignoring him and focussing solely on Hermione.

"I don't," Hermione said in a clipped tone. "I'd much rather be left alone to read in front of a fire in peace."

Hermione would have stalked ahead of Malfoy, but she realized that she not only didn't know where the common room was, but that she also didn't have her key and would have had to wait for Malfoy to let her in anyways. Choosing instead to give Malfoy the "silent treatment", Hermione refused to start any conversation for the rest of the long walk to the common room door.

It was a plain door, really; large and made of oak with a simple brass keyhole, it didn't look much different from the other doors throughout the castle. When Draco placed his key in the keyhole, however, the door flashed silver temporarily before swinging wide to admit its occupant. Hermione almost gasped when Draco stepped aside to give her the first glimpse of her new living arrangements. "Grand" wouldn't even begin to describe the room – "opulent" came a bit closer. There were huge floor-to-ceiling windows all along the edge of the tower, providing a beautiful view of the rolling hills, the Black Lake, and the Forbidden Forest that surrounded Hogwarts. Couches and chairs of varying sizes, colours, and materials were scattered throughout the room, and a fresh fire crackled away inside of a large stone fireplace. What caught Hermione's eye wasn't the light, or the fire, or the furniture; rather, it was the seven different-sized and -coloured doors that spread themselves out across from the windowed wall. "Seven doors?" Any anger forgotten, Hermione turned to Draco. "Why on earth do we need seven doors?"

"There are only thirteen students returning to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year," Draco supplied moving over to a large, plush, green armchair. "If you do the math, that's two people per room, plus a single room for the left-over student."

"Who's the left-over student?" Hermione asked, watching Malfoy sink down into the inviting-looking chair.

Draco smirked. "Why, me of course." He picked up a green apple from a fruit basket on the table beside him, and bit into it loudly. "Since I designed the lock system, I got to choose my roommate. Since I don't want a roommate, I chose to fly solo."

Hermione didn't know if she was supposed to feel disappointed that Malfoy got the room, or happy that she didn't have to be the awkward student without a friend to room with. _I mean, I like rooming with other people! _she thought, confused. _It's enough privacy….whatever. Draco's weird. _

"If I remember correctly, you're rooming with Looney Lovegood," Draco supplied, taking another bite out of his apple. "Your key should be hanging off of the bright yellow door over there. Take your pick – either key will match itself to your signature."

Hermione turned to examine the doors, and had to smile at Hogwarts' creativity; obviously, it had created distinct doors to match certain personalities. The door farthest to the left was a garish shade of purple, while the door next to it was metal and looked like a larger version of a security box door. There was a pale blue door, a sliding door, and a simple wooden house door, equipped with a doorbell and a peephole. Hermione dragged her trunk over to the second-last door on the right, which happened to be a narrow, tall, yellow door made out of a light wood. The door to her right didn't have a key hanging off of the single hook, so Hermione assumed that the imposing black door belonged to Draco.

The two keys hanging in front of her looked identical; they were both small and golden, with thin chains connected to a sort-of crocodile clip contraption. _These look similar to Malfoy's key, yet different_, Hermione thought, puzzled. _What on earth…._

Reaching hesitantly for the key on her left, Hermione closed her eyes. "It won't bite, Granger," Malfoy said snidely, causing Hermione to whip around and glare at him. Malfoy grinned lazily, tossing his apple core into a rubbish bin. "Just pick a damn key."

Hermione caught herself just before she stuck her tongue out at the annoying Slytherin. _Really, Granger? How childish…._

Making her decision, Hermione grabbed the key on the left, only to gasp as a warm, tingling sensation ran up and down her body. "The key is memorizing your magical signature," Draco supplied, flipping through a book that hadn't been there a moment before. "Don't worry, the feeling will pass."

And sure enough, the tingling subsided. When Hermione looked down at the key in her hand, she lifted her other hand to her mouth – _the key had changed! _It was still the same small, convenient size, only now it was a strange blue-ish metal. Also, there was a bizarre clear gemstone at the top of the ornate key, and Hermione saw that the fine metal handle was worked into a pattern of the night sky.

"Let me guess; your key turned a bronze colour," Draco said harshly from his chair.

Hermione hastily pocketed the key, feeling the magical clip attach itself to her jean pocket. "Why should you care?" she snapped, pushing open her bright yellow door.

"It's my invention," Draco drawled, swinging his legs up onto the arm of the chair. "I know that any to-the-core-Gryffindor will have their key turn bronze. The metal and handle change to mirror your magical signature and personality. So, is yours bronze with a phoenix design?"

Hermione slammed to door, trying to block out the sound of Draco's mean-spirited laughter. "You're so predictable, Granger!" he shouted.

Immediately placing wards, silencing charms, and various privacy-ensuring hexes on the door, Hermione threw her trunk onto the bed on the left. "Bloody Draco Malfoy," she muttered to herself, opening the trunk and magically directing clothing into drawers. "Of course he has to be here. He can't just let the rest of us have a nice year, no! He has to sabotage it all!"

Her magic flared up, and before she knew it Hermione was watching as all the contents of her trunk flew up into the air before coming crashing down around her. Hermione shouted, frustrated, and waved her wand angrily to put everything to rights again.

"Ummm, Granger?"

Hermione froze. That was Draco's voice.

"Is, erm, is everything ok? I heard a crash, and was concerned that you might blow everything up."

Hermione turned very red. Obviously she hadn't cast her silencing charms correctly. "No, I'm fine Malfoy," she said calmly. "Thanks for asking."

"No worries," Draco said, and silence filled the common room. "So, is your key red?"

Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. "Aren't boys supposed to mature eventually?" she asked her room.

Draco chuckled. "Eventually is a very broad word, Granger," he said. "I think most of us had to grow up too fast, and it's only now that we're getting a chance to be kids." Hermione heard footsteps and the door beside her room close.

Hermione turned back to her trunk and saw that everything had more or less been fixed and put into its proper place. "Much better!" she said aloud, and just as she was about to cast a silencing charm on the door, she heard a loud 'click' and a Scottish voice floated through the air.

"This is where you'll be staying for the duration of this year, and – oh, I'd hoped that Miss Granger would be here already. Hmm."

Flinging open her door, beaming, Hermione said "I'm here Professor!"

Professor McGonagall's creased, caring face turned to face Hermione, along with eleven other familiar faces. "Hello Miss Granger," McGonagall said happily. "I see that you've had a chance to get settled." She turned to address the crowd of eighteen-year-olds who were now gawping at the lavish common room. "I'll leave you all to settle," McGonagall continued, "but I expect to see you all for the Welcoming Feast this evening at seven. Your rooming arrangements are tacked to the back of the main door, and are non-negotiable. Have a lovely afternoon!"

And with that, McGonagall took her leave of the returning students. "HERMIONE!" several people cried at once, and Hermione found herself knocked into the back of a nearby couch with hugs.

"Hello!" Hermione laughed, attempting to hug everyone back at once. After she regained her balance, Hermione looked at who all had come over to hug her; Luna, of course, was there, her blonde hair done in an elaborate fishtail braid, radish earrings still in good condition. Neville stood just behind Luna, looming at a huge 6' 5'', his upright posture showing that he was no longer uncomfortable with his size and muscles. Dean and Seamus stood farther back in the group, already horsing around with one another again. And, right up in front, a shorter boy with unruly black hair, circular wire glasses, and bright green eyes grinned at Hermione. "Harry!" Hermione shrieked, hugging her closest friend. "You decided to come!"

"Yeah," Harry said sheepishly. "Ginny talked me into it. She said we'd have more time together if I redid my year, and, you know, I think I deserve some downtime."

"It's always about the ladies," Seamus called out with his thick Irish brogue. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that Hogwarts doesn't allow Prophet photographers onto the grounds?"

Harry grew red. "That –that might have b-been a contributing factor too," Harry stuttered. "Just don't tell Ginny, ok?"

Dean and Seamus immediately broke into uproarious laughter.

"Oh, goddamnit!" Hermione heard someone yell, and she turned around to see a tall, curvy girl with a pixie cut frowning at the rooming list that she'd ripped off of the door. "We're 18, and we have to share rooms?"

One of the Patil twins – Hermione was guessing Padma? – snatched the list from the mystery blonde. "Oh, this isn't so bad Lav – I mean, we all know each other!"

The blonde nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I s'pose that's a good thing."

Hermione hadn't even recognized Lavender Brown. The young woman had grown out of her round face and garish clothing, and now wore a tasteful suit and stylish short haircut. "Lavender," Hermione interrupted, still flabbergasted, "you look brilliant!"

The Gryffindor blushed. "Thanks 'Mione," she said, embarrassed. "You too."

"Anyone want to know who they're rooming with?" Seamus said, grabbing the list form an unsuspecting Padma.

"Well McGonagall said that these arrangements are non-negotiable, so it's not like we can do anything," a young man called out. Hermione recognized the tall brunette as Justin Finch-Fletchly from Hufflepuff.

"Well I'd like to unpack, if that's alright with you dunderheads," a female voice called out, and Hermione whirled around to see the red-headed Susan Bones leaning against the doorframe. Dressed in black leather with her hair tied up in a ponytail, the orphaned war veteran looked quite intimidating.

Dean, however, didn't seem perturbed by her appearance. "Yes ma'am," he said, snapping a military salute. "Anything for the woman who plans to one day run the Auror Corps and go after my ass at every opportunity."

"Shut it Dean," Susan snapped, reaching for the wand holster on her hip. "Read the bloody list, Seamus."

Seamus cleared his throat dramatically, and began speaking in a high falsetto. "Rooming in the far left door – that's the one in purple – Miss Lavender Brown and Hannah Abbott."

"Brilliant!" Lavender said, levitating dozens of trunks behind her. Hannah trailed after the blonde, eyes wide, a single worn trunk clutched to her side.

Seamus' voice went back to normal. "In the next door, the one that looks like a bloody prison camp, is Miss Susan Bones and….ouch…..Padma. Have fun Padma."

Susan gave Seamus a threatening glare. "Watch your tongue, Seamus," she snapped, grabbing her black case and storming into the room.

A not-so-scared looking Padma followed, and shrugged at Dean. "She's not so bad, if you really know her," Padma said, closing the metal door behind her.

"In room number three, we have Justin Finch-Fletchly and Michael Corner." Seamus looked very bored while reading that rooming arrangement, as the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students were perfectionists and not very responsive to immature jokes.

"It's too bad that Cormac didn't want to come back," Justin said to Hermione as he passed her. "I thought that you two made an adorable couple in sixth year."

Dean gave a wolf whistle and clapped as Justin blushed and ran into his room. "Since when were you and Corn-knickers a couple?" Dean asked, gasping through his laughter.

Hermione didn't grace Dean with an answer, choosing instead to shake her head and smile. Seamus coughed awkwardly. "Ok then…next up, behind the sliding door, we have me and Seamus! Alright!" The two best mates high fived, identical goofy grins plastered on their faces.

"So, that leaves Harry and Neville in the plain door, and Hermione and myself behind the yellow one?" Luna asked dreamily, reaching up to catch something invisible in the air above her head.

"Um, yeah!" Seamus said, glancing down at his list and then banishing the parchment. "You got it. The black door wasn't on the list."

"So what's behind the last door then?" Harry asked. "Is it a bathroom?"

"Our rooms have private bathrooms attached," Lavender said, coming out of her room and placing her hands on her hips. "Who the hell gets the black room?"

"Maybe it's for the domestic reddenflips?" Luna suggested, staring seriously at Lavender.

Michael Corner stepped out of his and Justin's room. "What's to become of the extra room then?" he asked eagerly. "I basically have a library packed in one of my trunks, and would _love _to shelve the books! Some of them are quite valuable."

No one paid Justin any mind, instead choosing to continue speculating about the nature of the mysterious door. "Um, I know why there's another door," Hermione said quietly, but the only Susan heard her.

"OI!" the red-head shouted. "SHUT YOUR TRAPS! GRANGER KNOWS ABOUT THE BLOODY DOOR!"

The room fell silent. "Thanks Susan," Hermione said, surprising the woman with a genuine smile. "There are thirteen of us studying here this year, and that last room is for the thirteenth student."

"Is it Ron?" Lavender asked excitedly, fluffing up her hair subconsciously.

"No, idiot, Ron is in the Auror Training Program already," Dean said, exasperated.

"Could it be Parvati?" Justin asked Padma.

"You think I wouldn't know if my own twin was here?" Padma snapped. "Parvati is in the Auror Corps too."

"SHUT UP!" Susan shouted again. The room grew quiet once more. "Don't you think Granger would know who's in the room?"

Twenty-two eyes immediately focussed on Hermione, and she unconsciously started fiddling with her wand. "Well, yes, I do know who it is," she said softly, staring at the ground.

"C'mon 'Mione, we'll find out who it is at dinner anyways," Harry urged her, smiling.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked up. "Draco Malfoy is going to be studying with us this year. He's in the seventh room."

Silence. Complete and total silence.

"What. The. Hell." Lavender looked Hermione straight in the eye. "_The Ferret _is studying with us?"

"Did he bring any of his goons along to protect him?" Dean asked. "If he didn't, he is going to be _so_ black and blue."

"Is that slimy git actually here Hermione?" Harry seemed stunned.

"Why would that Death Eater scum think that he's welcome here?" Susan spat, her wand drawn. "If he thinks I'm going to let him within ten feet of me, he's got another thing coming."

Everyone then started speaking at once, and Hermione felt her heart sank. Taking a page out of Susan's book, Hermione shouted "SHUT THE HELL UP!" The students stared at her, surprised looks on all of their faces. "Do you hear yourselves?" Hermione exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "You sound like…like…like a bunch of animals!"

"He's a _Death Eater_," Susan said, contempt practically dripping from her words.

"An _ex_-Death Eater who was essential in the fight against Voldemort," Hermione corrected, crossing her arms. "If it weren't for Draco's actions, Harry, Ron, and I would have all been killed at Malfoy Manor last year." Hermione rolled up her sleeve to reveal the word 'mudblood', forever etched into the skin of her forearm. "If it weren't for Draco, I'd have far worse scars than this."

"She's right," Harry said quietly, unable to meet Hermione's eyes. "We can't do this to him. Not now. Not when he needs to make a fresh start."

"Could we all just….try to be nice to Draco?" Hermione pleaded. "Can't we set aside our prejudices, and leave our house and personal rivalries behind? Wouldn't we all like a _normal _year at Hogwarts?"

"Well you can't ask me to be civil to him," Susan said loudly, turning abruptly into her room and shutting the door.

The other students seemed to be on the fence. Who would make the next move? What would happen?

"I'll give it a shot, 'Mione." Neville's quiet voice rang out loud and clear through the common room, prompting Hermione to grin excitedly. Neville turned to face his classmates. "We all owe it to him, guys. He'd probably do the same for us."

_Not a chance_, Hermione thought to herself.

Lavender sighed and rolled her eyes. "Alright," she said, "I'll be nice to the Flying Ferret. But if he so much as _hints _at going Dark again, I'll hex him to Hell and back."

The other students all nodded in Hermione's direction before going back into their rooms and shutting the doors until eventually it was just Luna and Hermione left in the common room. Luna turned to her new roommate with a dreamy smile on her face. "I think that went well," she said softly, before walking past the yellow door into the room.

Hermione heard a creak behind her and whirled around to see the black door closing ever so slightly.

Draco had witnessed the entire incident.

Cheeks burning, Hermione took several deep breaths. _It's only the first day_, she thought calmly. _Things have got to get better. _


	3. Food for Thought

A/N: Hello again, beloved readers! THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU for your comments and alerts! It seriously makes my day when I read your wonderful reviews! Please stay with me. ~sneakyslytherin

Hermione stood awkwardly in the now-empty common room, unknowingly fiddling with her hair. Since it was September, the sun was already low in the sky at five o'clock in the evening, and Hermione thought that it would hardly be appropriate to indulge in her customary five-o'clock-shot of firewhisky while at Hogwarts. _That'll be a hard habit to break, _she thought glumly.

After the final battle, Hermione had found that one shot of the burning alcohol seemed to make her mind calm down enough so that she could relax. It also seemed to chase away nightmares, which she was constantly plagued by. What war survivor _wasn't _haunted by the ghosts of their past?

Sighing, Hermione walked over to the large window-wall to her left and watched as the evening light lured the giant squid out from the depths of the Black Lake. Mesmerized by the thrashing tentacles, she almost didn't see the bird until it was right in front of her face. Hermione shrieked and whipped out her wand, a hex on the tip of her lips.

Right outside of the window was a large, black raven, its yellow eyes staring at her unblinkingly as it hovered just outside the glass. "Go away!" Hermione said, tapping the window with the tip of her wand. "Shoo!"

The raven let out an indignant "squawk" and pecked hard on the glass, its thick beak failing to make so much as a chip in the magic-infused material. "Ha!" Hermione gloated. "You're stuck out there, aren't you? Why don't you just fly back home to your nest and stay away from my window?"

"That's hardly a way to talk to my girlie," a voice said from behind Hermione.

She jumped, her heartbeat accelerating dramatically before settling down. "Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, turning to face the smirking Slytherin. "You have to stop scaring me like that!"

"But it's so entertaining!" Draco protested, moving over to the edge of the windowed wall.

Hermione watched as Malfoy located a small, golden-wire square in the window, no bigger than a shoebox, and tapped it with his wand. The glass melted away, and the irritated raven flew through the gap and onto Draco's outstretched arm. Looking at Hermione triumphantly, the raven let out a very loud "caw" before turning to Malfoy and holding out its claw.

Seeing the parchment that was expertly tied to the bird's foot, Hermione gasped. "That's your familiar, isn't it?" she said softly, taking a step towards the man and his bird.

"Yes," Draco replied, taking a step back. "This is Étoile, and she prefers not to be touched by anyone other than me. She doesn't like people much."

Étoile fluffed out her feathers and croaked indignantly, as if to say "I'm very picky about the company I keep, and you, annoying frizzy-haired witch, are not up to my standards".

"I apologize for offending your bird," Hermione said sincerely. "It just didn't occur to me that she might be a familiar! I mean, owls are fairly easy to bond to, but ravens! Ravens have to _choose _their masters, you can't just walk into a shop - "

"Thank you very much for the history lesson, Granger," Malfoy interrupted, "but I have to give Étoile her dinner before we leave for ours. I suggest you get ready – your school robes should be in your wardrobe."

Hermione had noticed the new clothing when she'd unpacked earlier. Nodding stiffly to Draco, Hermione made to take her leave of the common room. Before she could get very far, however, Draco called out to her. "Granger!" he said quickly. "Um, I just wanted to, er, thank you for what you said to the other students." Draco was looking awkwardly down at the ground, suddenly fixated on his shoes. "You didn't have to do that, and I really appreciate you trying."

"Well, it's what any decent person would have done," Hermione said slowly, trying to look at anything in the room _except _Draco.

"I obviously don't know many decent people then," Draco said. He'd meant for it to be a joke, but the look on Hermione's face told him that she had taken it far too literally. "No, no, no….not like that…never mind. Just…thanks, Granger."

Hermione nodded again and went into her room without saying anything else to Draco. Before she shut the door, however, she heard Draco muttering to Étoile in French; "_Cette année sera très difficile, Étoile, c'est la verité_. _Mais je vais essayer. J'ai besoin du temps._"

Not knowing how to speak French, Hermione didn't really understand what Draco was saying. However, the word "_difficile_" hardly needed any translation, and Hermione just desperately hoped that he wasn't talking about her. The young witch furrowed her brow as she shut the door to her room. _That boy really is hard to read, _she thought. _One minute he's snobbish, the next apologetic…it's like he's got multiple personality disorder, or something! _

"Don't furrow your brow like that," Luna said sternly from her bed where she was attaching what looked like mice with dragonfly wings to her ceiling. "The more you crease your forehead, the more the Guppersnaps will be tempted to nest there."

Used to Luna's odd comments, Hermione just smiled and nodded. "Of course, Luna, I'll work on it. How's your summer been?"

The next two hours were blissfully relaxing; Luna and Hermione were able to have a successful heart-to-heart, and were officially caught up with each other's lives. At 6:55, Hermione found herself doing up the clasp to Luna's necklace, gossiping about the blonde's latest romantic interest. "So, this Rolf," Hermione started. "He works doing what?"

"He's an Unspeakable," Luna explained. "I know that it's dangerous work, and that most of those people are serious and grumpy, but Rolf seems to like my….eccentricities. He listened to my speech about the growing issue of Knargle abuse in public restrooms, and afterwards he signed my petition! That's how we met, actually…."

"What's his last name?" Hermione asked absentmindedly, fixing her own necklace in the mirror. "Salamander?"

"_Scamander,_" Luna corrected. "Rolf Scamander. You won't find him in any directory though, with him being an Unspeakable and all…."

"Are you sure that you should be telling people what his real profession is?" Hermione said, concerned. "I mean, don't they have policies about that?"

Luna shrugged. "If they did, why would he trust me with the information?"

"Oi! Ladies! Stop doing your make-up and get out here!" Seamus' voice was apparently loud enough to break through silencing charms. "McGonagall'll roast us if we're late!"

"Coming, Seamus!" Luna called out, standing up and brushing invisible dust off of her robes. "Shall we go, Hermione?" she said, extending her hand to her roommate.

"Yes, let's."

All thirteen students walked down the staircases and towards the Great Hall together, chatting and making light conversation. Draco walked closer to the back and remained silent. He appeared to be listening to Neville and Justin's conversation about gillyweed, however, and no one had hexed him yet, which Hermione thought was a good start.

It was only when the group arrived at the doors just outside the Great Hall that Hannah voiced the growing concern that each individual had; "Where are we going to sit?" she asked, confused. "If we're house-less this year like McGonagall said…"

"Why hullo there!" a familiar booming voice echoed from behind the students, and the group turned around to see the massive figure of Rubeus Hagrid smiling behind them.

"HAGRID!" almost everyone cried out, and the half-giant was swamped with hugs from his favourite students.

The war hadn't been kind to Hagrid; thanks to the final battle, he now sported a large scar over his left eye, and would always walk with a limp. He was still extremely proficient with magical creatures, though, and continued to serve as a groundskeeper and teacher for the school that he loved so much. "Do you know where we sit, Hagrid?" Neville asked politely, craning his neck upwards.

"Oh, yer all house-less, aren't yeh?" Hagrid shouted, not realizing that his normal speaking tone was about ten times too loud for an indoor venue. "There should be a nice big round table set up fer yeh over close teh the staff table. Follow me!"

Thirteen slightly apprehensive students followed the large man through the center of the hall, and all of them moved over to sit at a circular table set up to the right of the staff area. Smiling up at the enchanted ceiling that was mirroring the clear, cool night sky, Hermione completely missed the scuffle of who decided to sit where. When she looked down again, her heart sank; the only free seat was between a stony-faced Draco Malfoy and a scowling Susan Bones. On Draco's other side, a hesitantly smiling Harry seemed to be silently begging Hermione to just take the empty seat and be done with it. Acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary, Hermione sat down beside her former arch-nemesis.

McGonagall took this as her cue to signal an unfamiliar female teacher to bring in the first year students from outside. After reading out a seemingly endless list of names, adding at least a dozen students to each house, the Headmistress stood up to deliver her opening speech.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said grandly, gesturing to the warmly lit building surrounding her. "Whether this is your first year or your eighth, we are all happy to have you here for a peaceful, constructive, educational year at this esteemed school. Before I let you all get to your delicious meal, I'd like to quickly announce some changes in staff –as the past Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts died in combat against Voldemort last spring, we have a new Professor filling the position. Though she may not be as intimidating as our Professor Snape, we're sure that she will earn your friendship and respect; Professor Prewitt, would you please rise?"

A fresh-faced young witch in green robes stood up from the staff table and smiled, waving happily at the politely-clapping students. Hermione recognized her as the woman who led the first-years in. "She won't last," Hannah said darkly from beside Hermione.

Hermione glared at the morose witch. "How can you tell?" she snapped, noticing that Hannah was still wearing her leather boots underneath her robes. "Maybe she's a seasoned auror? Maybe she'll become the best teacher we've ever had."

Hannah shook her head. "Not a greenie like that. I bet she hasn't seen a day of battle in her life."

Hermione looked back at the smiling young professor, and felt herself agreeing with Hannah. _Where are her worry lines? The permanent frown etched around her mouth? Scars? The haunted look in her eyes? _

McGonagall continued her speech when the applause died down. "Also, as most of you are aware, we have a change in the seating arrangements of the Hall – to your left, you'll see a table that houses our returning veterans from the war against Voldemort, seeking to complete their education. Please rise, my dears!"

Slightly humiliated at being referred to as "dears", the eighteen-year-olds all stood quickly before sitting back down, embarrassed. When the student body caught a view of Harry and Hermione at the table, the applause grew uncontrollably loud and uproarious. "Quite the fan club you have there, Granger," Malfoy whispered into her ear, tickling her skin with his breath. "Looking forward to being in the spotlight this year?"

Hermione jerked away from Malfoy, glaring at him before turning to the food that had suddenly appeared on the table. She heard Lavender groan, and turned to see if something was wrong. Lavender had her hand on her stomach. "After a year of watching my weight, it's all being shot to hell by one meal back at Hogwarts."

The entire table – excluding Draco – joined in with laughter, and their eighth year at Hogwarts officially began.

"So, Hermione," Neville called from across the table, loading up his plate with potatoes. "How's Ron doing? Have you heard from him?"

"Yeah, are you two still – you know – together?" Padma asked, gesturing with her fork.

Hermione blushed. "Erm, no, not exactly," she stuttered. "Ron and I are still good friends, we've just….we just decided that we weren't _that _kind of friends."

Seamus started laughing. "Pay up, Dean!" he said, holding his palm out to his grumbling friend.

Hermione grew red and looked down at her plate, feeling tears welling in her eyes. They had made bets that she'd break off the relationship? She felt hot breath against her skin once more. "Don't pay attention to them, Granger," Draco whispered. "They don't know how much that comment just hurt you. Hide it. Then they have nothing to hurt you with."

Almost imperceptibly, Hermione nodded and continued eating, contributing to the conversation around her as the evening progressed. When a very tipsy Professor Trelawney stood to return to her tower, the students decided that it would be deemed acceptable if they, too, were to leave. Sleepy seventh-years and eleven-year-olds hyped up on sugar all filed out of the hallway, and Hermione gave a quick wave to Ginny. She doubted that the red-head saw her, however, as Ginny only had eyes for Harry.

"Love is sickening, isn't it?" Hermione turned to see Draco sneering at the oblivious happy couple who were now embracing in the middle of the hallway.

"I think that love is actually rather lovely," Hermione said, starting to walk out of the hallway. She was surprised when Draco fell in-step beside her.

"But it always just seems so complicated," Draco said, his brow furrowed. "I mean, why go through all that pain?"

"Does that look like pain?" Hermione asked, tilting her head back to Harry and Ginny who were now leaning their foreheads against each other.

"They had to go through the pain of separation last year," Draco pointed out, avoiding looking back.

Hermione nodded. "True. But isn't that worth it? They have the rest of their lives to be happy with each other."

Shrugging, Draco shook his head. "I just don't understand it. Love is like a different language."

Hermione laughed. "Just watch, Draco – one day you'll fall in love, and then you'll understand it perfectly."

She stopped when she noticed that Malfoy was no longer beside her. Turning slightly, she saw that he was frozen a few steps back, his eyes wide. "You called me Draco," he said slowly, his eyes staring into hers.

Hermione blushed. "I'm sure I've called you Draco before," she said hurriedly, moving to turn.

Malfoy moved forwards and grabbed her arm. "No," he said firmly, "you haven't said it without animosity before. It's always 'Malfoy', or a mean-spirited 'Draco'."

Embarrassed at Draco's hand on her arm and her apparent sudden change in behaviour, Hermione tried to move up the stairs. Draco abruptly let go of her arm and moved beside her again. They walked in companionable silence up to the common room, and then Hermione pulled out her key to open the door.

Draco's loud gasp reminded Hermione that he had no idea that her key wasn't red. Quickly hiding the blue metal under her palm, she turned the key quickly. The door flashed silver before swinging open. Draco, however, didn't move into the room. "Your key is blue," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on something that Hermione could not see. "Your key is bloody blue!"

Hermione chose to ignore his ramblings and walked into the common room. Not hearing Draco follow her, she spun around. "Really Draco, it's not advisable for you to remain in the hallway all night," she scolded, half-mocking and half-serious. "You have a lovely room just in here."

Being addressed seemed to jar Malfoy out of his reverie, and he walked quickly into the room and in front of Hermione. Before they could get very far however, Draco stopped again. "Damn," he said softly, hanging his head.

"What?" Hermione asked, panicking. "What's wrong?"

Draco turned his head to look at her, his grey-blue eyes mournful and distant. "I'd hoped that it would be different here," he said wearily.

Stepping to the side, Draco allowed Hermione a view of the common room; someone had painted the words "GO DIE DEATH EATER" in bright red paint on Draco's door.

Hermione's hand rushed up to cover her mouth. "Who would do this?" she asked hesitantly, watery eyes fixed on a stony Draco.

"Anyone, I expect," Draco said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

"We can fix it!" Hermione said quickly, grabbing her wand and walking to the door. "It's just paint, we can wash it off -"

Draco grabbed a hold of Hermione's wrist. "No," he said softly. "It's late. I'll do it in the morning."

"But then everyone will see it!" Hermione whispered urgently.

"Only the eighth-years," he said.

"Still!" Hermione exclaimed. "You don't want them to see this! This is offensive and derogatory and -"

"It doesn't matter," Draco said, patting Hermione's hand before letting go. "They're all thinking it anyways – what difference does it make if someone wrote it?"

Passing by a stunned and silent Hermione, Draco walked over to his desecrated door and opened it. "Thanks though, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head. "Thanks for what?" she said harshly. "You didn't let me do anything!"

"Thank you for caring," Draco said in a near-whisper before closing his door.

Once again, Hermione was left alone in the common room with a headache and a new, strange ache in her chest.

It was only just before she was about to fall asleep that Hermione realized Draco had addressed her by her first name.


	4. Washing Off the Stains

A/N: Ok, here we go again! Chapter Four! I have big plans for this fiction, and as a result I'm procrastinating on /all/ of my homework to write it. XD So, please R&R, I love you all! 3 ~sneakyslytherin

"Good morning!"

A cheerful voice woke Hermione from her slumber. Grumbling, the sleepy witch turned away from the voice. "Go away Luna," she mumbled, eyes still firmly shut. "I just fell asleep."

Luna's ridiculously energetic giggle filled the room. "You fell asleep eight hours ago, silly!" she chided, pulling the covers off of Hermione. "It's six-thirty!"

Curling up into a small ball to conserve the last of her warmth, Hermione opened her eyes and glared at Luna. "I hate you morning people," she snapped, swinging her legs out over the bed.

Luna nodded, satisfied, and grabbed her school bag. She'd done her hair into an elaborate bun, and was sporting miniature Cornish Pixie earrings. "I'm going to breakfast," she said, practically bouncing out of the room.

"But classes don't start 'till eight!" Hermione protested, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Why the hell do you need to be up so bloody early?"

"I want to go up to the owlery to see if I have any letters from Rolf." Luna tilted her head, smiling, and waved. "See you in first period!"

The door seemed to shut with an earth-shattering bang. Hermione winced. _How the bloody hell does Luna know what classes I have? _she thought, standing up and stretching. _Oh bloody hell, I've been spending way too much time with Ron – now I'm talking like him._

A sharp pain ripped through Hermione's chest at the thought of Ron. Their relationship had been wonderful for the first couple weeks, but it had all fallen to hell as soon as Ron had tried to get past first base. _It's perfectly fine that I wasn't comfortable with that, _Hermione assured herself. _It never would have worked out if that's what he expected of me._

Hermione's words sounded empty to her. She'd said them to herself at least a thousand times, but she was never convinced by them. While she was showering, she attempted to clear her mind; nothing worked. She was officially too lost in her past. _I'm a prude, and it's my fault that the Golden Couple disintegrated._

Stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around herself, Hermione examined her figure in the mirror. _He never would have stayed with me anyways. My shoulders are too big, my waist too thick, my chest too small…._

The other day Hermione had read an article in the Daily Prophet that stated Ron was currently going steady with Parvati Patil, and that the two were seen at a nightclub before they apparated together. _We worked this out! _she thought angrily, furiously brushing her teeth. _I wouldn't care about or meddle with his love life, as long as he did the same for me. We're still friends! _

The monster inside of her chest, however, appeared to feel differently. As Hermione was getting dressed and organizing herself for the day, she felt as if a small, evil creature was ripping her chest open from the inside. This was a common feeling, though; she felt this way whenever she stopped to think about Ron. Usually the moster was sedated with a quick shot of firewhisky. Sighing, Hermione grabbed her shoulder bag and walked into the empty, silent common room.

_Everyone must have gone down to breakfast, or something, _she thought. _Weird. _

Hearing a click, Hermione whipped around, her wand drawn, only to slump when she realized that a now-wide-eyed Draco had just opened his door. "Good morning to you too, Granger," he said dryly, stepping out of his room and closing the door.

Hermione blushed and lowered her wand, looking awkwardly past Draco. In looking past him, however, her gaze settled on the door. Still red and vibrant, the letters burned themselves into Hermione's memory. Draco seemed to be examining the paint, and Hermione awkwardly asked, "So, are you going to try and get rid of it?"

Draco rolled his eyes, still focussed on the door. "No," he said sarcastically. "I thought I might make this a permanent feature of the décor."

Hermione let out a single harsh laugh. "You seem to require a microscope," she teased, attempting to make the blonde laugh.

Confused, Draco turned to face Hermione. "A what?" he asked, obviously lost.

Hermione mentally kicked herself. "Um, a microscope. It's a muggle science tool that allows someone to see a very close up image of whatever they're looking at. You seemed to be pretty focussed on the door so….oh never mind. It was a joke."

Draco still looked very confused. He shook his head. "Right, Granger. Of course."

"Can I help?" Hermione blurted out.

Draco turned to face her, an eyebrow raised. "You. Wanting to help me. There's something very wrong with this picture."

Hermione blushed. "Well," she said, deliberately ignoring Draco's statement, "would you like my help?"

"I don't need it," Draco said firmly, turning around.

"I'd like to help!"

"It's not necessary, Granger."

"I know, but I'd still like to help you with this."

"You're being silly."

"Please, Draco, don't fight me so hard. The time for fighting is over."

Draco turned around and seemed taken aback by Hermione's genuine desire to help. His eyes narrowed. "You'll have to skip breakfast," he warned, checking his watch.

Hermione nodded. "That's fine – I'm still pretty full from the Feast last night."

Moving beside Draco, Hermione began to inspect the letter "E" in the word "DIE", looking for any hexes or curses woven into the paint. "I haven't seen any malicious hexes yet," Draco informed her, starting to examine his sixth letter. "Frankly I don't think any of you goody-two-shoes would be cunning enough to know how to cast them."

Hermione froze. "You think….you think one of us did it?" she said quietly.

Draco nodded, not looking up from his letter. "We're the only ones who can come in here," he said softly. "Either someone let the person in, or more likely someone living in this common room wrote the message."

Skillfully dancing around the content of the message, Hermione exclaimed "No! Everyone staying here is tolerant and kind-hearted. No one would write something…something…so horrible."

Draco laughed humourlessly, his eyes taking on that sad, flinty look again. "Trust me, Hermione, this isn't that bad."

Her heart sank for this sad, broken boy that stood beside her. What had happened that had destroyed his spirit so utterly? Yes, he put up an arrogant façade for public appearances, but Hermione knew that _this _Draco – the wretched, detached Slytherin – was the real Draco.

They finished checking the letters in silence. "So, do you want to try washing it off with an _aguamenti_?" Hermione suggested.

Draco shrugged. "It can't hurt."

Taking two paces back, the pair looked at each other. Draco drew his wand from a holster under his robes on his arm, and Hermione slowly her wand and counted down. "Three, two, one – _aguamenti!_"

Twin jets of water soared out from Hermione and Draco's wands, landing on the letters. Rather than wash the paint off, however, the red, sticky substance seemed to _absorb _the water. Draco and Hermione looked at each other, eyes wide. A high humming sound filled the air, and Hermione felt a crushing weight followed by blunt pain all through her left side.

"Shit!"

Hermione heard Draco swear, but it was odd….the voice was coming from above her. Opening her eyes, she saw that Draco had flung his body across hers. The Slytherin was staring intently at his door, swearing bloody murder, his arms wrapped around Hermione's waist holding her closer to him. Water from Draco's robes and hair dripped off of him and landed on Hermione, but for some strange reason she didn't really mind – maybe it was because she was already wet, or maybe she just liked this feeling _far _too much.

Draco just seemed to realize that Hermione was still there, and still very much underneath him. Springing back so that he was crouching on the balls of his feet, Malfoy looked concernedly at Hermione. "Are you ok?" he asked gently.

"I think so," Hermione breathed, sitting up slowly and wincing. "Just…just give me a minute."

Rather than attempt to stand, however, Hermione lost herself in a single drop of water travelling down Draco's marble skin. The moisture collected at the corner of his right eyebrow, then slowly traced a path around his eye socket and down his pale cheek. It reached the corner of his lips, and then followed its path down his chin and onto his slightly curved neck. Hermione lost sight of it around Malfoy's collar, and her eyes flitted up to meet his.

Draco, too, seemed to have just caught Hermione's gaze. Similar to the day before, Hermione felt that there was tension in this stare; however, the tension had completely changed. She no longer felt anger, or animosity… _What _**am** _I feeling? _

Silence stretched out for what seemed like eternity, the quiet laced with possibilities and opportunities that neither party wanted to fully recognize. Grey eyes continued to search the layers in the brown, and two pairs of hands moved imperceptible millimeters towards one another.

The connection was shattered when someone's alarm clock started to sing "Living On a Prayer" ridiculously loudly and dramatically off-key. "Damn it!"

Hermione recognized Dean's voice, and heard a loud thump as she presumed the alarm clock was thrown at the wall. Draco sighed and stood up from his crouching position. Extending his hand to Hermione, he smiled crookedly. "I guess the water wasn't such a good idea?" he said, pulling Hermione up and towards him

"I guess not," Hermione said slowly, not moving closer to Draco but not moving further back either. She let out a small gasp as Draco ran his finger over her knuckles before letting go of her hand.

"So, it's not a malicious curse," Draco said, breaking away from Hermione as if nothing had happened. "At least, I don't think it's supposed to be. Could it just be a rebounding spell?"

Hermione, jarred out of her stunned silence, nodded quickly. "I think I read about a Wheezes product that functioned off of a similar concept…we probably shouldn't try any other spells on the paint just in case it throws everything back at us. I could owl George later today and see if he can give us a counter-curse."

Draco stiffened noticeable at the mention of the elder Weasley brother. "Thank you for the offer Hermione -" he started, but she cut him off.

"I won't mention you, if that's what you're so worried about," Hermione said brusquely. "He wouldn't give a damn anyways. But if that's what made you go all tense, I can avoid mentioning your name or anything that involves you."

Relaxing noticeably, Draco's crooked grin returned. "Thanks Granger," he said, not using the name as an insult. "I really appreciate it."

Both the teenagers spun around, wand at the ready, when they heard a loud shriek and another thump behind them. Hermione sighed. "Is Dean still throwing his alarm clock around his room?"

"I'd assume so," Draco said dryly. "Either that or he's chasing a chocolate frog."

Hermione glanced down at her watch. "Well, as you predicted it's too late for breakfast – do you know what class we have first?"

Waving at the bulletin board over by the main door, Draco said "All of our schedules are pinned up there. Grab yours, and we can see if we have any classes together."

Hermione arched her eyebrows. "Oh? And why would it matter if we did?"

Growing red, Draco attempted to stutter out a response. "Uh…um…it'd…you….we….I need help with my essays," he finished lamely.

Hermione laughed lightly, plucking her schedule off from the wall. "I have Advanced Transfiguration first with Professor McGonagall," she said matter-of-factly, tapping her schedule several times to replicate it. "And you?"

Draco reached behind him to grab his book bag off of a chair and pulled a single crumpled schedule out from the bottom of it. "It looks like I have that class too," he said, smiling.

Looking disapprovingly at the mangled paper, Hermione asked, "And…the rest of your day?"

"Oh!" Draco seemed genuinely surprised that she would care enough to ask him about his schedule. "Um, I have Advanced Transfiguration, Charms, Advanced Potions, Runes, Advanced DADA, and Muggle Studies."

"You?" Hermione gawped. "Taking _muggle studies?_"

Draco looked down at the ground. "My father forbade me from taking it before," he mumbled. "I figured…well, I figured this was a decent opportunity to actually learn something useful."

Kicking herself for her insensitivity, Hermione gently pried Draco's schedule out from his clenched fists. She let her hands linger over top of his for a moment before quickly scanning his nearly-illegible paper. "Whenever I have Arithmancy, you have Muggle Studies," Hermione said, quickly making several nice copies of Draco's schedule. "I'd recommend keeping three copies of this in your book bag, putting one on your wall, and having one tucked up your sleeve – they're too big to fit into these ridiculous pockets, and you never know when you might need to get access to it."

Draco smiled. "Yes, Professor," he said, giving a mock bow and obediently tucking a copy up his sleeve. "Now, can we head down to Transfiguration? I'd rather not be as late as Dean, if it's alright with you."

Hermione glanced towards Dean's room where she could still hear multiple thumps and swears. "That sounds like a brilliant plan," she said seriously, making sure that her key was in her pocket before she left the room. "However, we are still sopping wet," she said, smiling and raising her wand.

Looking down at himself, Draco smirked. "We're quite the sight," he said, lifting his arms out to either side. "The drowned ferret and the soaked kitty cat – it's a good thing the Prophet can't get their photographers past the gate."

Hermione laughed loudly as she finished drying Draco and herself off and closed the common room door. "Keep an eye out for beetles though, won't you?"

"Beetles?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"Oh! Right, I wouldn't have told you about our incident in fourth year…."

For the rest of the walk down to the Transfiguration class, Hermione and Draco made light conversation about the wizard press, Skeeter, tabloids, the royal family, and various other random topics that seemed to somehow or another sensibly flow into each other. To any ignorant passer-by, Hermione and Draco would have seemed like two close friends who were reunited after an entire summer apart.

Unfortunately, the student body was very well informed about Hermione's status at the "Golden Girl" and Draco's past as a Death Eater. When the pair passed students, the children's eyes would go wide before the whispering would immediately start. Draco was doing pretty well with ignoring the attention, until he caught snippets of a tall, brunette's statement; "…filthy Death Eater…. people like him …my parents are dead."

Draco's back went ramrod straight, and his lips pressed together tightly. Hermione had heard the idiotic girl too, and had immediately noticed Malfoy's reaction. Acting as if nothing was wrong, she gently pulled Draco's clenched fist into her hands. "Don't pay attention to them Draco," she whispered, her lips dangerously close to Malfoy's ear. "The students don't know how much that comment just hurt you. Hide it. Then they have nothing to hurt you with."

Draco looked down at Hermione, meeting her earnest gaze. He smiled. "You really do have a way with words, witch," he drawled, squeezing her hands before pulling away.

Hermione's fingers suddenly felt cold separated from Draco's, and she clasped her hands together in front of her. "I learn from the best," she said, smiling.

When the two finally arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, it was almost precisely when class was supposed to start. Hermione heard Draco's breath coming in quick gasps, and saw his eyes go wide. "Are you alright, Draco?" she asked, concerned, turning towards her friend.

Draco seemed to mentally shake himself. "Yeah," he said softly. "I just have bad…awful memories from this room. From the battle. You know."

Sympathetic, Hermione nodded. "It's like coming back to a castle filled with ghosts, isn't it?" she said quietly, looking around the empty hallway. "I keep expecting to see Snape come billowing around the hallway corner, or Lupin come shuffling down the stairs-"

"Or Mad-Eye stump towards you, reminding you to be constantly vigilant," Malfoy added, a sad smile finding its way onto his face.

"Exactly," Hermione said softly, remembering at the last moment to avoid mentioning Dumbledore. "But we have to keep going, right? We can't get mired in the past."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right," he said, barely audible.

"So," Hermione asked, smiling, "are you ready?"

Draco turned to her and nodded. "Sit beside me?"

Hermione said yes without any hesitation.


	5. The Project

As soon as Hermione stepped into the Transfiguration classroom, she felt as if she'd stepped back in time; McGonagall's chair was exactly where it had always been, the desks were in the same spots, even the blackboard looked as if it hadn't moved. The room still smelled like parchment-glue and grass, and the tangible level of energy in the air from all the expended magic seemed to be unchanged. Feeling as if she was an innocent first-year again, her mind unclouded with thoughts of Voldemort and her shoulders free from crushing responsibility, Hermione almost floated over to a desk to sit beside Draco.

However, upon closer inspection, Hermione's illusion dissolved. She could see that certain sections of mortar were lighter colours, and there were obvious places where offensive and defensive charms had soaked into the stones, discolouring them. The Battle of Hogwarts had obviously scarred this room. "Even that which seems so familiar turns out to be different," she sighed.

Draco pulled a large textbook out from his bag and turned to look at his desk-partner. "That sounds official," he said. "Oscar Wilde?"

"Hermione Granger." She smiled. "Just because someone uses big words doesn't always mean that they're quoting some dead genius."

Draco was about to reply when the door slammed open and Minerva McGonagall burst through the doors. "I apologize for being late, class," she said tersely, rounding on her students at the front of the room. "There's a pair of brothers in fourth year that have uncannily similar personalities to the Weasley twins– they were quite the handful this morning."

Most of the class grinned. "What?" Seamus asked, looking at McGonagall. "They flooded the castle on the first day of school?"

McGonagall allowed herself a small, genuine smile as her pupils laughed. "Their pranks aren't quite that elaborate yet, Mister Finnegan," she said. "But I wouldn't put it past them."

Just as McGonagall finished her comment, a shabbily-dressed and obviously still half-asleep Dean burst into the classroom. "Sorry Professor!" he hurriedly exclaimed, running his hand through his un-brushed hair. "I overslept, but I have a reason, and -"

"Don't let it happen again, Mister Thomas," the Scottish witch said firmly, pointing Dean over to a vacant seat beside Justin.

"Yes ma'am," Dean said obediently, staring fixatedly on the floor as he made his way over to the desk.

"Now then," McGonagall said excitedly, clapping her hands together. "Let's get you all started on your eighth year. "I know that the majority of you attended Hogwarts last year, although it's safe to say that our curriculum was significantly….altered during wartime."

Neville snorted and whispered something to Harry that made the bespectacled boy nod somberly.

"Will we have to learn some of the same stuff again?" a very concerned Lavender Brown asked from the back of the class. "I mean, I'm pretty sure that Charms last year was the same as it's been every year…."

McGonagall waved her wand, and the words "culminating project" appeared on her blackboard. "Does anyone know what a culminating project is? Mister Malfoy?"

Draco had obviously been staring off beyond McGonagall, and the witch had caught him not paying attention. "What?" he asked, disoriented. McGonagall pursed her lips and tilted her head towards the board. Wincing, Draco focused on the words written in bright white chalk. "Umm…a culminating project. Isn't that, like, an assignment that shows, like, all that you've learned?"

"Well said Mister Malfoy, even if you were more interested in examining the bricks behind me than actually listening to what I was saying." The Professor nodded sharply before starting her customary walk between the rows of desks. "Now, how many of you attended a muggle school prior to your enrollment at Hogwarts?"

Hermione raised her hand and watched as everyone – with the exception of Draco, of course – raised their hands. "Excellent," McGonagall continued, now half-way down the first row. "So, can any of you tell me what the letters 'TA' stand for in a muggle academic context?"

There was a hesitant silence until Harry raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"Well, um, TA stands for – well, it used to stand for – umm….teacher's assistant?"

Hermione smiled to herself. Harry still hated speaking in public, even if it was just to a teacher or a relatively close group of friends. McGonagall had obviously noted the same thing, and she laughed softly as she nodded. "Yes, you're correct Mister Potter. Two points to Gryffindor for an uncannily good memory."

A blush rushed up into Harry's cheeks and he quickly looked down at his parchment, feverishly pretending to take notes. McGonagall smiled and continued her patrol of the aisles. "As some of the curriculum is similar this year, we've decided to apply the concept of "TA"s to Hogwarts classes. You will be creating lesson plans, working alongside your teacher-mentor, and eventually teaching several solo classes."

An excited murmur ran through the class as the thirteen students processed the implications of McGonagall's words. "Teachers' Assistants? This is brilliant!" Hermione whispered to Draco. "That will look stunning on an application to university!"

Draco snorted rather loudly. "As if any university would deny your application."

Hermione frowned and flicked Draco's head lightly. "Don't say that," she whispered. "I might decide to take it as a challenge."

Smiling, Draco smoothed down the hair that Hermione had ruffled up before turning to face a waiting Professor.

"Are you all quite finished gossiping?" McGonagall asked primly, walking back to the front of the class.

"Yes ma'am," Seamus and Dean said in unison.

McGonagall gave the two troublemakers one of her famous steely glares. "Don't think that just because you're legally adults that I'll let you get away with murder this year boys," she warned, waving her pointer finger. "I will tolerate _no _monkey business."

Seamus nodded. "Of course Professor. No monkey business."

"Do orangutans count as moneys?" Dean asked Seamus, grinning broadly.

It was obvious that McGonagall was trying very hard to stay upset with her former cubs. "No tomfoolery boys," she said sternly. "That's my final word on the subject."

Padma Patil's hand shot up into the air. "So, Professor, what subjects are you offering TA positions in?" She was obviously the only student who had thought to focus on the logistics and details of the TA program.

"Thank you Miss Patil – each of you will have to write an application letter to the teacher that you wish to work under." McGonagall's chalk was magically copying her words onto the board as the witch continued. "There will be a maximum of two students per subject, however other than that there are no restrictions – you may apply for any subject that you feel passionate about."

"Calm down Granger – you look like you're about to explode."

Draco's whispered comment brought Hermione back into reality, where she realized that she was sitting up in her seat, practically bouncing into the aisle. "Sorry!" she said quickly, looking down at her desk.

"Don't apologize," Draco said, flicking the side of Hermione's head, mimicking the witch's earlier actions towards him. "I was just bringing you out of your bubble."

Hermione turned to face Draco and saw that he was smiling rather sadly, his grey eyes drawing her in and his hand inches away from hers on the desk. Zeroing in immediately on their hands, Hermione's pulse went through the roof. _Do I take his hand? Do I leave it? What?! Bloody hell, why do I even care?_

Resolving her dilemma by picking up her quill and turning away from the Slytherin, Hermione tried to focus in on McGonagall again.

"….because only two students can be selected for each subject, you see. If you provide us with a priority list and you aren't selected for your first-choice subject, then we can select your second- or third-priority choice."

Hermione heard McGonagall's voice, but the words seemed to pass in one ear and out through the other. Her mind just kept flashing images of Draco's eyes before her, yet her neck refused to turn to see the real-life boy sitting beside her. Running wild, her imagination pictured those eyes coming closer and closer to her until she was swimming in pools of cool, grey water, a warm hand wrapped around hers.

"And Miss Granger," McGonagall called out, bursting Hermione's daydreams, "I expect this letter to be _a letter_. Not an essay, not a miniature novel. At most, a foot of parchment."

Hermione nodded. "Yes Professor," she said, duly noting the requirement, knowing from past experience that she could go six inches over without being penalized.

Nodding, McGonagall continued. "I'll expect your applications over the next few days – Friday morning at the latest. I urge you to put genuine thought into these letters and your subject of choice, children – this TA position could have a severe impact on your future."

Silence filled the classroom as everyone took on a more somber attitude. _This is a year that's entirely too used to being serious_, Hermione thought sadly. _Hopefully this year we can counteract those instincts_.

"Before next class I'd like you all to read over chapters one and two of your transfiguration textbook, and take notes on pages 13-56. Class dismissed."

Energy surging back into the room, the thirteen students immediately started talking and heading out into the hallway. Hermione chose not to walk over to Harry, Neville, and Luna; instead, she turned to face Draco. "We have charms, yes?" she said, watching the blonde pack up his belongings.

"Uh, yeah, I think so," Draco said, not meeting Hermione's gaze. "You go ahead. I'll meet you there."

Suspicion flooded Hermione's consciousness, but she smiled and nodded. Acting as if she was leaving the classroom and heading down the hall, Hermione felt Draco's eyes watching her. Just as she crossed the threshold, she snuck behind the classroom door and waited. _It's not that you don't trust him_, Hermione assured herself. _You're just worried for him, that's all…._

"Professor," Draco's voice made Hermione snap to attention. "I couldn't help but notice that certain charms I placed on my dorm seemed to wear off extremely rapidly."

"Oh?" McGonagall said, her voice sounding concerned. "What charms were you attempting to cast?"

"Silencing charms," Draco said smoothly. "I have rather graphic nightmares, and didn't think that the others needed to be woken at night."

Hermione's heart lurched. _He has nightmares too? _she thought. _He doesn't deserve that…._

"Ah, I know what your issue is," McGonagall said, sounding satisfied. "Your rooms are in Unity Tower."

Silence.

"Erm, yes Professor, they are." Draco was confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The tower is charmed to prevent dividing charms from being cast – I'm assuming that the Tower viewed your silencing charms as something that could potentially separate or isolate you from the rest of the group, preventing true unity."

"Of course," Draco said dryly. "The tower is trying to protect my social life."

"It's far more important than that, Mister Malfoy," McGonagall said sternly. "A desire for isolation is one of the common side-effects of post-traumatic stress disorder. It's trying to prevent you from sinking into depression, or from potentially hurting yourself."

Malfoy paused before asking another question; "So, if a student moved past simple isolation and actually attempted to hurt themselves, what would the Tower do?"

"Well, the Tower only has a certain amount of magic Mister Malfoy." McGonagall was beginning to sound like she was following a lesson plan. "It will do its best to stop you from harming yourself, but it's not as if it could grow arms and pull your wand away from you. And, as you know, Hogwarts is warded with anti-suicide spells. Not that we're particularly worried about any students attempting to kill themselves – Hogwarts is such a close-knit, supportive community, and we've never had a student attempt to take their life before."

"Of course."

At this point, it felt like a light bulb went off above the Professor's head. "Why such morbid questions, Mister Malfoy? Should I be concerned about you?"

Draco's voice seemed hollow and insincere. "I was just wondering, Professor; the fact that Unity Tower has _any _magic is news to me, I was inquiring after the extent of its abilities."

"I see." McGonagall didn't seem convinced, and Hermione didn't believe a single word that had just come out of Draco's mouth. "Well Mister Malfoy, should you have continued issues with your inability to sleep soundly through the night, I would recommend seeing Professor Slughorn for a few vials of Dreamless Sleep. Use it sparingly and with caution, however –it's highly addictive."

Draco must have nodded, saying "Of course. Thank you Professor."

"Although I recognize that I'm not your past Head of House, Draco, please don't hesitate to confide in me or consult with me for anything – my door is always open."

"Thank you."

He turned abruptly on his heels and walked quickly out from the room, Hermione following him as fast as she could manage. "Draco!" she hissed. Getting no response, she grabbed his forearm. "Draco!"

"What?" Draco snapped, his eyes blazing with a cool fire.

Unfazed, Hermione hissed "What was that all about? You sounded like…like…a suicidal _nutcase_!"

His eyes narrowed. "You were eavesdropping, Granger? That's low, even for you."

Feeling like she'd just been punched in the stomach, Hermione straightened up and grew cold. "Yes. I was listening. But just because I'm worried about you. And, apparently, rightly so! Now McGonagall is going to get the portraits to monitor you!"

Still angry, Draco hissed "…monitor me? What?"

"Yes, you numbskull, monitor you!" Hermione checked over her shoulder before continuing. "She'll be keeping tabs on _all of us_ this year, watching for depression, addictions, or odd behaviours – technically, we _are _war veterans. You just sent up, like, a _million _red flags with your comments there!"

Draco's anger was still tangible. "How do you know all this Granger?" he said scathingly. "Are you omniscient now as well as being a genius?"

Hermione suddenly grew quiet, her thoughts snapping back to her sixth year at Hogwarts.

_Blood._

_Tears._

_"I'm here to help, Harry!"_

_"GO AWAY!"_

"I don't think it's my place to say," Hermione said quietly looking down at the ground. "It's not my story to share. But…just know that she'll be watching you, ok?"

Leaving a somewhat stunned and certainly confused Draco standing in the hallway, Hermione stalked past him and headed for the charms room. When she arrived, she saw an empty seat next to Harry and sat down, slamming her books and bag on the table. Used to loud noises and completely at ease in the Hogwarts environment, Harry didn't so much as flinch. "Upset?" he asked kindly, watching Hermione throw quills, ink, and parchment out of her bag.

"No," Hermione said firmly, throwing her book bag down to the ground with a loud crash. "Why would you think that?"

"Just a hunch," he said, righting Hermione's inkwell and checking to see if the quill nib had been broken. "Were you talking to McGonagall?"

"No," she said again, sitting down and furiously tapping her fingers.

"Hmm. Where's Draco, did you lose him on your way down?"

Hermione dug her nails into the soft wood of the desk. "I don't want to talk about it," she said tersely.

"Ah, the Ferret got to you," Harry said, sighing. "Some of the blokes were wondering how long it'd take until you couldn't stand him anymore."

"It's not that I can't stand him, I just can't read him!" Hermione exclaimed. "One minute he's completely fine, the next he just…blows up! It's ridiculous! He was completely fine – maybe a bit morbid, but just curious, or whatever - and then McGonagall mentioned something about 'not being his Head of House', and he just flipped!"

Harry was listening intently, and his eyes grew wide. Leaning towards Hermione, Harry said softly "Did you know that Snape was Malfoy's godfather?"

Hermione spun to face Harry. "What?" she hissed.

Nodding, Harry continued. "Yeah, Draco is Snape's godson. I went to the funeral – you know that, you're the one who suggested that I go – and Draco was sitting in the family section of the church. I talked to some people afterwards who told me that Draco actually spent most of his time over at Snape's house in Spinner's End. That is, until sixth year. Then he had to stay home with his dad for some reason that I couldn't quite figure out…."

Hermione was stunned. "But…he….what?"

"I know, right? It's weird. Does that explain his odd behavior?"

"No!" she insisted, her mind still a bit fuzzy after Harry had dropped that information-bomb on her. "He's so…so….different! I don't know what to do with him, Harry. I'd like to help him, but I don't know how.

Covering her mouth, Hermione's eyes went wide. _Did I just blurt that out to Harry? Oh Merlin, he's going to think that I'm a prize idiot…_

Harry had a thoughtful expression on his face. "I think you should make Draco Malfoy your project," he said, grinning.

"….what?" Hermione was skeptical, raising one eyebrow and looking down at her friend.

Harry, however, was unfazed. "We all have this TA project which'll be easy as one-two-three for you, so you should create your own side-project; getting to know and 'figuring out' Draco Malfoy."

Hermione just stared at her friend. "Draco is a person," she said slowly, "not some specimen on a slide under a microscope."

"Well then don't think of it as a project, then – more of an….intervention."

Not amused, Hermione crossed her arms.

Harry refused to back off. "You know it'd be fun, Hermione. You could even write an essay at the end of the course, if you'd like!'

"Oh? What course is that?" Hermione snapped, picking up her quill and twirling it nervously in her fingers.

"Draco Malfoy 101, of course!" Harry said excitedly.

Hermione heard the door open and watched out of the corner of her eye as Draco sat down next to a silent Michael Corner. Malfoy's eyes looked red, and it looked as if he still hadn't unclenched his fists. She sighed. _What am I going to do with you?_

_A/N: I got this chapter finished sooner than expected, haha, hopefully you liked it! I'm trying something new here; I'm following a brilliant story called "Gray Skye Mourning" by KneazleGriff, and she tells her readers at the end of each chapter when approximately the next chapter is going to come out. (Check out KneazleGriff's work, if you have the chance - I love it!) _

_So, I'd like to say that you can expect Chapter Six by Tuesday night (September 25th). I'm going to try and update every Tuesday and Friday, but I'll let you know if my plans change!_

_Thank you again for your lovely reviews! I seriously would print them off and frame them if I didn't think that my parents would probably find that a bit weird, haha. Please keep reading! ~sneakyslytherin_


	6. Words Said in Anger

_i"Where did you get it?!"_

_ "We found it in the forest, I swear we didn't -"_

_ "You're LYING, MUDBLOOD!"_

_ "No! No! I'm not, I sw -"_

_ "CRUCIO!"_

_ Hermione was sobbing, her tears mixing with blood and streaming down her face. "Please, no," she whispered, barely conscious. _

_ "Begging are we?" Bellatrix let out a mad cackle. "It won't do you any good, pretty. The entire world is going to see you for the filthy mudblood you are…that is, if I don't kill you."_

_ Unable to keep her pain subdued any longer, Hermione screamed when she felt the cold blade of the knife hit her arm. A sharp pain. The warmth of her life's blood spilling out over her wrist and forearm. "Stop! Please!"'_

_ "Oh, stop? Alright, I'll make it stop."_

_ Hermione felt the cold steel, now slick with her blood, pressed against her throat. _

Hermione shot up in bed, her eyes wide and wand raised. She was breathing hard, drenched in sweat with her sheets clinging to her body. The cool, dry air of Hogwarts brought Hermione back into reality, and she recognized the still-sleeping form of Luna across the room. Slumping, Hermione sighed. "Shit," she mumbled, dropping her wand and scrubbing her face with her hands. "I really need a firewhisky."

Slipping on her robe and padding out into the common room, Hermione walked over to the windowed wall and watched as the sun peaked out from behind the thick forest and rolling hills. _So it's almost five-thirty then…too late to try and get back to sleep._ She pulled her robe closer to her body. _Might as well face the day._

She didn't move, though. As much as her brain was telling her to go shower, dress, and find breakfast, her heart and feet kept her grounded by the window, watching the sky go from black, to midnight blue, to pink, to orange, and finally red. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice said from behind Hermione.

Turning slowly, Hermione smiled as Neville walked up beside her, his hair unbrushed, clothed in button-up old-fashioned pajamas and slippers. "I've missed it," she admitted, looking back out over the landscape.

"Even last year, in the middle of all that evil, I could find comfort watching the sunrise." Neville was staring pensively out the window when Hermione turned to look at him. She nodded sadly and returned to the study of her living painting.

The two stood in companionable silence for a while before Neville continued. "Were you woken up by nightmares?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yup. The final battle?"

"Sometimes. Mostly Malfoy Manor."

"I heard about that. It sounded awful."

"Yeah, it was."

Silence.

"Neville, do you ever dream of the dead?"

The young man broke his stare out the window and looked at Hermione. "All the time," he said softly. "I just…I just see them over and over again, dying right in front of me."

"Really? I see them all calling to me…." Hermione searched desperately for the words to articulate her repeating nightmare. "Like, it all starts with Sirius, standing behind the veil. But then Dumbledore joins him, and Lupin, and Moody….pretty soon they're all there just _staring _at me."

"Well, you saw more death than I did," Neville said, rubbing his eyes and sighing.

Silence.

"You know we couldn't have done anything different, 'Mione. There would have still been death, no matter what we did."

"….yeah. I guess so. Thanks Nev."

"Are you going to go back to bed?"

"Nope. You?"

"Probably not. I thought I'd go for a run around the lake."

"Ok." Hermione massaged her temples. "Have fun Nev. I'm going to go hunt down some food, I think."

Neville nodded and turned to leave. "Oh, and 'Mione," he said, almost forgetting. "I'm really impressed that you're trying with Draco. I mean, I don't know if I could've done that."

Hermione snorted. "Done what?"

"Give him another chance."

Mired in her own mind, it took Hermione a while before she moved after Neville left. She was stuck on auto-pilot, showering and dressing as if in a trance. When she walked back out into the common room, the glaring red letters on Draco's door caught her eye again. _Damn, I was supposed to send that letter! _

Mentally kicking herself, Hermione grabbed a quill and parchment and quickly scribbled a note to one of her favourite Weasleys;

_Hey George!_

_ It's Mione here. Hopefully everything's good with you and Angelina, and I'm sure that Wheezes is doing well – almost all the first-years want to sneak off and visit your shop in Hogsmead. (You manage to corrupt future generations of pranksters without even being present! That's quite the talent.) _

_ I can't give you too many details for fear of offending someone I know, but an unknown vandal has managed to find a type of paint that absorbs spells you send at it, and then sends your own charms back at you. I unfortunately discovered this first-hand. Wasn't there a Wheezes product a couple quarters ago that did that? Sorry if my memory is entirely inaccurate, but any advice you have on how to get the paint off would be really appreciated!_

_Thanks! Say hi to Angelina for me!_

_~Mione_

Satisfied, Hermione rolled up the parchment and headed off towards the owlery. Skipping up the last few steps, she made it to the noisy, warm, rather awful smelling room where all of Hogwarts' owls resided. Holding up a knut, Hermione called out, "I need an owl to make a delivery to London!"

A few owls raised their heads groggily, but a brown speckled barn owl flew immediately to Hermione and extended the pouch on its leg. In italic script on the pouch was the name "Léon". _I really must learn French, _Hermione thought to herself, thinking of Draco and Étoile.

"Thank you Léon," she said politely, tying her scroll to the owl's claw. "Please deliver this letter to Mister George Weasley – you should find him at the Weasley Wizard Wheezes store in Diagon Alley."

Blinking his yellow eyes and hooting once, Léon took off from Hermione's arm and headed out over the quidditch pitch. As her eyes followed the owl, Hermione caught sight of a lone figure above the pitch; they were looping and diving at ridiculously fast speeds, their robes flapping behind them like large wings. Silhouetted against the dawn light, the figure was completely anonymous.

Hermione squinted and raised her hand above her eyes to block out the light. _Who the hell is out on the pitch at this hour?_ she wondered, still watching the silent figure.

She wasn't overly surprised, however, when she caught a glimpse of blonde hair.

_Draco. _

Rocketing high above the pitch, Hermione almost lost the Slytherin in the rising sun. She gasped as he came plummeting down, headed on a beeline for the ground. "Slow down," she whispered to herself, wringing her hands. "You'll hurt yourself, slow down, _slow down, slowdown!_"

Hermione nearly screamed when Draco disappeared beneath the stands still going at his frightening speed. She didn't realize that she was holding her breath until Draco reappeared above the stands and she took a large gulp of air. _God damn it Draco! _

Shaking her head, she brusquely turned on her heel and headed down the owlery steps. _Reckless, stupid, teenage boy! What an idiot!_

This mental tirade continued until Hermione arrived in the Great Hall to see Harry and Susan already sitting at the eighth-year table, whispering to each other over their toast. Susan looked up as Hermione approached. "God Granger, you look terrible," she said, her eyes travelling up and down Hermione's body.

Hermione glared at the young woman who was still wearing her ridiculous boots. "I had trouble falling asleep last night," she said tersely. "It must have been all the noise coming from Dean and Seamus' room."

Shrugging, Susan returned to her food. "Morning Harry," Hermione said, sitting down beside her friend with a sigh.

"Nightmares?" Harry whispered so that Susan couldn't hear.

Giving a nod so small that it was almost imperceptible, Hermione confirmed her friend's suspicions. "I don't have any access to firewhisky here, so of course they came back."

Harry frowned. "Did you want to try some Dreamless Sleep?"

"Pah – that stuff doesn't work for me anymore. I used it way too much in the first few months after the battle; now it's totally ineffective."

Harry nodded sadly. "Same here. At least we didn't get addicted to it though, hey? I hear that's what happened to Bill…."

Hermione and Harry continued their conversation until the first few students came trickling in. "Hermione!" Luna called out, sauntering down the aisle towards the table. "I'm surprised that you woke up so early of your own volition!"

"Yeah," Hermione said uneasily as Luna sat across from her. "It's a miracle."

More and more children came filing into the Great Hall, some of them bursting with energy and others who were very obviously _not _morning people. Harry stood up, however, when a red-haired figure came into the hall. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go finish my breakfast with Ginny," Harry said politely, getting up and walking away from the table.

"He's got it bad," Lavender sighed, stabbing a sausage with her fork.

"They're so sweet together though, you've got to admit!" Padma said, unwrapping a muffin.

"I wish someone would look at me like that," Hannah said, staring longingly at the embracing couple across the hall.

Hermione looked around, noting Draco's absence from their table. Craning her neck, she even scoured the Slytherin table for him; no luck. "Hey, did any of you guys see Draco in the common room?" she asked, trying to seem nonchalant.

It felt as if everyone was staring at her, and no one was moving. The silence stretched ridiculously long before Neville said coolly, "No, I didn't, sorry Hermione. Did he sleep in, do you think?"

"I don't know." Hermione's brow furrowed. "I didn't think he'd want to miss the second day of class, especially with this TA project and all…."

"Speaking of the TA," Seamus called out, grinning, "what classes is everyone applying for?"

"DADA," Susan said bluntly, leaning back in her chair. "No question."

"Herbology," Neville said softly, looking down at his plate.

"I was hoping to get Care of Magical Creatures," Luna said, twirling some hair around her finger. "Hagrid could use the help, and since he's so tall maybe he can help me catch some Flitterplumps."

"Defense," Dean and Seamus said in unison, glaring at each other.

"I was going for defense too!" Lavender said, narrowing her eyes.

"Herbology," Hannah squeaked, ducking so that Lavender could glare at Dean and Seamus without her head in the way.

"Tranfiguration," Padma said coolly. "McGonagall is retiring soon, and I'd love to be a teacher here."

"Hey, that's what I'm going out for as well! Maybe we'll be partners!" Michael said loudly, grinning at a grimacing Padma.

Justin looked at Susan before saying, "Defense. Definitely."

"Hey Hermione, what are you hoping for?" Dean called out, attempting to draw Lavender's attention away from him.

"Umm, maybe potions?" she said. "I don't really know, though. It's a big decision."

Micheal's eyebrows shot up. "Potions? Really? I'd have thought that you'd be trying for defense too. Harry was telling me this morning that that's what he was trying for…"

Seamus groaned. "Great. Since Harry's going to automatically make the DADA TA position, we all have to compete to fill _one spot_."

The tension at the table was palpable as all the DADA-hopefuls stared each other down, gauging strengths and identifying weaknesses. Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, erm, I'm going to go, um, to potions now. Bye."

As quickly as she could manage, Hermione picked up her bag and walked out of the hallway, her half-eaten breakfast forgotten. Neville and Luna followed not far behind. "So much for encouraging unity," Neville snorted, looking at his feet. "This is going to be a tense day."

And, sure enough, Neville's prediction was correct; all throughout the day, the eighth-years were distracted. Dean and Seamus refused to sit together – _Now there's a first_, Hermione thought – and Lavender and Susan kept sending mean-spirited notes to one another. Slughorn, of course, was oblivious to this as he lectured on the properties of Pepper-Up Potions, but other teachers seemed to notice that something was off. The new DADA teacher, Professor Prewitt, almost set her hair on fire she was so nervous, and Flitwick stuttered his way through what was supposed to be a class discussion.

While Hermione was concerned about her friends' odd behavior, she was more worried about the individual who was noticeably absent from all his classes; it was the last period of the day, and Draco still hadn't emerged. Their final class, Astronomy, was a complete failure; Sinistra told them that they were supposed to be monitoring the process of the sun, however the dark, heavy rainclouds that had moved in during the afternoon destroyed the lesson plan. They ended up reciting constellation names and all the stars' properties as they watched the downpour start outside the classroom windows.

As the eighth-years walked from the Astronomy Tower to the Great Hall, Hermione grabbed Neville's sleeve. "I'm just going to run up to the Tower and make sure that Draco's alright, ok? I'll be down for dinner in a bit," she whispered.

Neville nodded and Hermione silently drifted away from the group and headed up the stairs to Unity Tower. When she unlocked the door with her key, Hermione was disappointed to see no one in the common room. Walking over to the window, she saw no one over by the quidditch pitch either. _Where the hell are you, Draco?_

Just as she thought that, Hermione heard a creak. She turned around to see that Draco's bedroom door had moved ever-so-slightly open, as if beckoning her to go in. Moving slowly towards the door, Hermione knocked lightly. "Hello?" she called out, knocking again. "Draco, are you in there?"

Not hearing any answer, Hermione pushed the door open. "Hello?" she called out again, moving into the dark room. "Lumos," she whispered, drawing her wand, and Draco's room came into focus.

The dorm was simple; an unmade bed with black sheets lay tucked into the corner, and a wardrobe and garbage were to Hermione's right. The garbage was noticeably overfilled with tissues, and some of the ones close to the top looked bloody. _Uh, that looks like it was a nasty nosebleed_, Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. _Maybe he's sick_.

Just as she was about to call out again, the bathroom door slammed open, and Draco walked out. His hair was unwashed and windswept, his eyes bloodshot, his skin unnaturally pale. He was wearing a turtleneck, but he reached over and grabbed a thick jacket from his wardrobe and threw it over his shoulders angrily. "What the hell are you doing here Granger?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"I – um – the door was open -"

"No it wasn't!" Draco yelled, his eyes burning. "I know when I lock my door!"

"The door was _open!" _Hermione insisted, backing away from the obviously upset Draco. "I just wanted to make sure that you're ok!"

"Great. Thanks. I'm fine. Now _go away_."

Hermione's eyes grew steely. "No!" she insisted. "I'm worried about you Draco! Between your weird episode yesterday and you skipping class today, I'm genuinely concerned that there's something wrong with you!"

Draco laughed bitterly. "There are lots of things wrong with me," he said, sounding like he was on the verge of hysterics. "I'm a Death Eater, for one. Don't tell me that I'm not, you know what they say – once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. I'm a pureblood elitist. Never mind that I just parroted what my father said, that doesn't matter!"

Hermione felt tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. "Draco, stop -"

"I'm the son of one of Voldemort's inner circle, which of course makes me evil by association. I did well in Potions, but that's all a lie because I just used the favoritism of Snape, who only saw me as a potential future servant of the Dark Lord. _And _I just got word that my oh-so _beloved father_ has escaped from Azkaban, and the Ministry is accusing me of being complicit in his escape. As you can see, Miss-Perfect-Granger, there are _many things _wrong with me."

Hermione was at a loss for words. Usually she was good at comforting people, but this time the words just stuck in her throat. Silence filled the room as Draco panted, staring at Hermione and crossing his arms to bring his jacket closer to his chest. "None of that's true," Hermione said hoarsely, finally breaking the quiet. "You know that."

Draco shook his head. "You don't get it," he said quietly. "You'll never get it. Now get the hell out of my room."

"I'd like to understand, Draco," Hermione said, taking a step towards Malfoy. The Slytherin flinched, but didn't move away. "I'd like to get to know you as who you _really are_, not who you had to pretend to be."

Hermione took another step towards Draco who had now closed his eyes and was breathing slowly. She placed her hand lightly on his cheek. "I want to know the boy from Malfoy Manor, the one who stepped in for me when Bellatrix had her knife on my throat. _That _is the Draco Malfoy that I want to know."

Draco leaned into Hermione's touch before flinching and stepping away. "That boy is a myth, a figment of your imagination," he said bitterly. "I'm nothing. Forget about me."

Storming past Hermione and out into the common room, Draco slammed the outer door as he headed down the steps. Hermione made it over to the windowed wall before she fell to her knees, tears blurring her vision. Looking out onto the grounds, she saw Draco exit the main doors and step into the pouring rain. He walked until he was almost at the forest boundary before he stopped. Throwing off his jacket and tilting his head to the sky, Draco Malfoy stretched out his arms and stood in the rain, hoping it would wash him clean.

Hermione's sobs began in earnest then. She rarely cried, and whenever she did it was always a short spasm of grief that passed after a few moments. These tears, however, were different; they weren't for her, they were for Draco, and they lasted far longer and meant so much more than any tears she had ever spilt before.

_A/N: Happy Tuesday! Hopefully you enjoyed this next installment, it was cool to write. The next chapter should be heading your way around Friday (September 29th), but I have a History IA to do so it might be Saturday. Around that time. Please R&R! :) ~sneakyslytherin_


	7. Letters

_ "Sirius!" Hermione felt the joy surge through her as she looked at the tall, proud figure standing just behind the veil in the Department of Mysteries. "You're here! Just come to me!" She beckoned furiously. "Harry needs you, he's breaking down – just walk through the veil, come towards me!"_

_ Unfazed, Sirius shook his head, his dark eyes staring at Hermione, unblinking. He appeared to be trying to speak, but no sound travelled across into the realm of the living. Hermione saw another figure enter her vision; Remus Lupin walked out beside Sirius and called to someone outside of the doorway-sized veil. Tonks came out to join her husband, placing her head on his shoulder, her arms frozen in a shape that would hold a small child, if the child existed in the afterlife._

_ "Teddy's safe," Hermione said to Tonks, her eyes pleading. "He's ok here, with us."_

_ The previously-effervescent witch just shook her head and formed more soundless words, her mouse-brown hair hanging limp in her eyes. Mad-Eyed Moody stumped into the frame, standing behind Sirius and scowling at Hermione, his eyes flinty, arms crossed. Behind Moody came Dumbledore, whose eyes no longer twinkled, and he went to stand beside Lupin. Then came Dobby, and Snape, and Fred, and Colin, and Cedric, and hundreds of faces that Hermione did not recognize, but whose presence still haunted her from behind the veil._

_ As more and more figures appeared, Hermione cried out, "No! It wasn't my fault, please! Please!"_

_ But they didn't seem to hear her. When the frame was filled beyond all possibility, a whisper of sound finally crossed over from the afterlife; "It should have been you who lost your lifffe," the dead hissed at her. "Join usssss…."_

"Hermione! Hermione, wake up!"

Jerking upright, Hermione screamed as her head connected with something solid.

"Ouch! Merlin, witch! That hurt!"

"Harry?" Hermione said tentatively, her voice hoarse.

"Yes, Hermione, it's Harry." Luna's soft voice filled the room. "You were screaming and shouting, but I couldn't wake you so I went to get Harry. I figured that he'd know what to do."

"Lumos." A light from Harry's wand filled the room, and Hermione winced as she saw a red lump forming on her friend's forehead.

"Sorry," she said apologetically, tapping the bump with her wand and smiling as it receded. Embarrassed, Hermione toyed with her sheet and asked "What was I saying?"

"You were just screaming, mostly," Luna said bluntly. "There were some names thrown out there – Tonks, Sirius, and Dumbledore I think? I'm not too certain – but at the end your voice faded to a whisper. Did you hear what she said Harry."

"No," the wizard said slowly, telling Hermione with his eyes that he had heard her, but that he knew that she wouldn't want Luna to know. "I didn't."

"Really, it's ridiculously that this tower won't allow silencing charms," Luna said stubbornly, tapping the stone beside her with her wand. "I mean, all my charms to ward away Knargles seem to stick, but the silencing ones just slide off!"

"The tower is encouraging unity," Hermione rasped, her hand on her throat. "It thinks that by putting up silencing charms we divide ourselves."

Luna rolled her eyes. "That's ridiculous. I'll have to talk to Flitwick about that."

Just then, there was a knock on the door. "What the hell?" Harry shouted, checking his watch. "I'll get it 'Mione, you stay put."

When Harry opened the door, he glanced back quickly at Hermione and then stepped outside. "Hmm," Luna said dreamily. "I wonder who it could be at this hour."

"Probably just Dean or Seamus," Hermione whispered, massaging her temples. "They must be wondering what all the racket is about."

"I'll put on some tea, 'Mione – that should help your throat."

As Luna padded off into the mini-kitchen that existed just off the washroom, Harry walked back into the room, a troubled look on his face. "Who was it?" Hermione rasped, coughing.

Harry looked concerned as he met Hermione's insistent gaze. "Promise you won't freak out?" he asked, smiling when Hermione nodded curiously. "It was Draco Malfoy."

Hermione gasped, but this sent her into another pain-riddled coughing fit. "What did he want?" she asked hoarsely.

"He wanted to know if you were ok," Harry said softly. "He asked me if you were having nightmares, and then suggested that I should get you tea with lemon and then put you under a Timed Sleeping Charm."

Hermione tilted her head as if to ask, _What kind of charm is that?_

"It's like muggle Chloroform; it sends you into a dreamless sleep almost immediately. But, since it's magic, I can set a timer on it, like an alarm so that you wake up at seven, or whatever."

_Why haven't I heard of this before?! It's bloody brilliant, I'd use it all the time!_

"You can't cast it on yourself though, and you can't use it more than a dozen times; otherwise you go into a coma."

_….ah. That's why I haven't heard of it before. _

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't like this idea much, but after you have your tea I'll cast the spell, just for tonight, ok? I know that you'll run yourself into the ground if you don't get some sleep tonight."

Grateful, Hermione placed her hand over Harry's. "Thank you," she mouthed, reminding herself of the silent figures in her nightmare. She shuddered, happy when Luna returned with the tea.

Hermione listened as Harry and Luna had a quiet conversation about the Hogsmead trip in two days' time, and whether or not as eighteen-year-olds they'd still need permission forms. After she finished her tea, Hermione snuggled down under the covers and winked at Harry, who began the complex incantation to send her to sleep. Just before she drifted off, she felt Harry place a light kiss on her forehead. "G'night 'Mione. Sleep well."

_Hah. Not likely._

Several hours later, Hermione awoke very suddenly. It felt as if no time at all had passed, yet light was streaming in through her window and Luna's bed was empty. _That charm is really wicked,_ she thought, springing out of bed. _It works even better than firewhisky! _

When she emerged from her room, dressed and ready to face the day, Hermione noticed that the owl she'd sent off a few days ago was hovering outside the window. "Oh my gosh, Léon!" she cried, rushing towards the section of the window where owls and Draco's raven slipped through the glass. "How long have you been waiting?"

The owl gave a dignified hoot before landing on Hermione's arm and presenting her with a letter sealed with purple wax, stamped with a large sparkling gold "W". "I see that George has replied," Hermione said, scratching Léon under his chin. Cooing appreciatively, the owl nuzzled under Hermione's neck as she unrolled the letter.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_ Angelina and I are fine! We've got big news though, be sure to come to dinner sometime in the next month. (Being the clever witch you are, though, I'm sure that you'll guess our surprise news long before then.) Thanks for the birthday present, by the way – I've used the season tickets for every single Chudley game, and they're actually second-last in the season right now! GO CANNONS! Angelina even comes too, even though she thinks that her team is far more talented and much more likely to win. She can be quite the grump when it comes to her Harpies – although I guess when you're team captain you're allowed to be a bit touchy._

_ I looked into the letters you asked about, and they actually __**are **__a Wheezes product! It never really made it past testing, due to the possibility for graffiti and vandalism, but we had intended for it to be used on blackboards and such. It's called "Friendly Paint" – if any pesky kid tries to erase your lesson, they won't be able to. However, if the teacher just nicely asks the paint to come off, it should collect into a nice little bucket underneath the board. _

_ So, just ask nicely for the paint to come off, and it should listen to you. If not, feel free to firecall, send me a letter, or – Merlin forbid –actually come and visit me some time. _

_ Enjoy your term and Hogwarts, and please tell the first-years to be subtle with the Skiving Snackboxes?_

_Much Love,_

_George_

Hermione grinned. _Angelina and George are engaged! _she thought happily, tucking the letter into her book bag and letting Léon go out the window. _That is so sweet! I wonder when the wedding is…_

As Hermione was watching Léon fly away, she heard a click behind her, followed by heavy footfalls. Turning slightly, she caught a glimpse of blonde hair and pale skin disappearing from the common room. Ever since her confrontation with Draco, the Slytherin had attended all of his classes, scurrying off and disappearing the moment the bell rang. He hadn't come down for any meals, but he had been civil to his year-mates when they attempted to talk to him. Hermione hadn't approached him yet, too afraid that she would destroy whatever fragile arrangement he'd created with himself.

Breakfast and Hermione's first classes passed by in a blur, tensions still running high between the students all these days later. The TA announcement had been made on Monday; it was now Friday, and everyone had submitted their applications. Everything was in the professors' hands now, and all the students could do was wait anxiously. McGonagall had promised that the assignments would be handed out on Monday, however, so it wasn't _too _long of a wait….plus the eighth-years all got Friday afternoon off, so everyone would get a chance to cool their heads.

During lunch, Harry actually sat with his year-mates for a change. "Pried yourself away from Ginny then, mate?" Seamus said, elbowing a blushing Harry. "Decided you need some time with your friends?"

"She has class," Harry mumbled, stuffing part of an orange into his mouth to avoid further conversation.

"Mind if I sit here?" a deep, smooth voice said, and the entire table went silent as Draco Malfoy walked up beside Hannah.

"Oh, um, sure Draco!" she said, blushing and lifting her book bag off the empty seat.

Nodding gratefully, Draco sat down and helped himself to a sandwich. The entire table seemed to just stare at the blonde, as if they were waiting for him to go up in flames or start screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Hey, since we all have the afternoon off, why don't we head down to the lake?" Lavender suggested, breaking the silence. "We could all use the time together, and it'd be fun to get out of the castle."

Neville looked to either side and shrugged before saying "I'm game! Just let me get out of these bloody school robes."

"Here, here!" Justin said, rolling up his too-long sleeves. "How about we all get changed and then meet down by the pier?"

Everyone nodded and slowly drifted upstairs to change. Looking outside at the unnaturally warm September day, Hermione decided that she was going to use this opportunity as one last chance to sunbathe. She dashed into her room and quickly threw on her red bikini, followed by a too-big button-up shirt and a pair of jean shorts. Lastly, she grabbed her aviators. "You look stunning, Hermione!" Luna said, sauntering into the common room wearing a yellow sundress and a ridiculously large hat.

"Thanks Luna! I love your outfit, the hat is very…unique."

"Oh, I just love it!" she gushed, twirling flamboyantly. "Rolf sent it to me from Spain."

The two girls linked arms and walked all the way through the castle and towards the dark Scottish lake. Most of their year-mates were already there, and Dean and Seamus were busy trying to lure the giant squid to the surface using bits of bacon. "Here, squiddy-squiddy!" Seamus called, smacking the water. "Come and get your lovely bacon!"

"Do squids even eat bacon?" Susan said disdainfully, lying atop a rock wearing sunglasses and a dark bathing suit that showed off her impressive muscles. She'd finally taken off her boots, Hermione noticed.

Seamus put his hands on his hips. "I don't know! We'll find out, won't we?"

"I think the squid would rather have _seafood_, don't you?" Lavender said, looking up from her magazine temporarily to glare at the two idiots. "I mean, don't giant squid eat fish?"

"Actually, I think they're vegetarians," Neville supplied, sitting in the top of a small-ish tree above Susan. "There's this type of seaweed called 'Squid-weed', and I believe it's their main diet."

Dean sighed. "So, the bacon won't work?"

"I doubt it," Neville answered honestly, jumping out of the tree.

"Well then, more for me!" Seamus cried, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth.

"Really?!" Hermione said, disgusted as she sat down in the sand close to the water. "We just had lunch!"

"I'm a growing boy!" Seamus mumbled through his mouthful of food. "I need protein!"

Shaking her head, Hermione lay down in the sun, opened her latest book, and lost herself inside the world of wizard history for quite some time. She only looked up occasionally to glare at Dean and Seamus when they splashed her.

After a solid hour-or-so of time in the sun, several students decided to go inside to do homework. When Hermione looked up again, it was just her, Harry, Susan, Neville, and Hannah left outside. Neville had managed to get Hannah up into the tree with him, and was pointing out features on the horizon. However, Hermione doubted that Hannah was listening; she was staring at Neville with a dreamy expression on her face, nodding and smiling at every word the young man said.

_She's got it bad_, Hermione thought, smiling, watching as Harry swam yet another lap around the Black Lake. Susan was still lying on her rock, sun tanning, but her sunglasses were so dark that Hermione couldn't tell whether or not she was actually asleep.

"Mind if I join you?" a voice said from behind Hermione.

"Jesus Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked, nearly jumping out of her skin. "You've really got to stop scaring me like that!"

Meeting the blonde's eyes, Hermione was suddenly reminded of their confrontation. She hastily looked back at the ground. "So, may I join you?" he asked again, quieter.

"Of course," Hermione said, almost whispering. "You don't need to ask."

Draco lowered himself down beside Hermione, stretching his legs out with a contended sigh. He threw his head back, allowing the sunlight to hit his entire face, the light making his skin seem to glow. Hermione shook her head. _Stop staring at him, he'll think that you're some sort of freak!_

Hastily picking up her book again, Hermione flipped to her page. "Ah, Potions History – I've read that one," Draco said, leaning in over Hermione's shoulder.

"Mmhmm?" she said, frowning slightly. "And did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, quite," he said, reaching for the edge of the book. "There was something particularly interesting on page three-hundred-and-ninety-five, if I remember correctly…."

As Draco flipped through the massive tome, Hermione allowed herself to look at the young man beside her. _He's wearing a bloody turtleneck and black jeans? In this weather?! He apparently doesn't own any other type of clothing….not that I'm complaining. He looks bloody brilliant._

Draco's yellow-gold hair was left to float around his face in the light breeze, and his lightly calloused fingers gently turned the pages with a care Hermione had rarely witnessed in someone other than herself. Grey eyes flickering back and forth across the page, Draco bit lightly on his lower lip as he searched for whatever passage he wished to find. Hermione found herself entranced by the movement of Draco's eyes; it was like they were dancing, forming a pattern that was entirely unique and un-repeatable. _Do all eyes work like that? _she wondered, absentmindedly reaching up to her own face.

With a triumphant cry, Draco jabbed his finger at a section about midway down the page. "Here it is!" he crowed, smiling at Hermione. "An entire paragraph on Wolfsbane and its effect on testing subjects in Romania."

"Really?" Hermione said, intrigued, snatching the book away and looking for the passage. "I've never read any documented research done by the subjects before."

"I know, right? That's what makes it so exciting!"

The vibrant light in Draco's eyes caused Hermione to lower the book for a moment. "When did you become such an avid reader?" she asked curiously, tilting her head slightly.

"Um, I've always been a reader," he said, awkwardly ruffling his hair. "I used to read all of Uncle – Professor Snape's books over the summer. It's why I read this one – he had loads of stuff about potions."

"I see," Hermione said politely, dog-earing the page and setting the book to the side. "I only learned a short time ago that Snape was your godfather – did you visit him often?"

"As often as I could," Draco said honestly, smiling, his eyes distant as he travelled into his memories. "I used to write him letters asking him to come rescue me."

_Rescue? Rescue you from what? _Hermione thought, worried, unable to voice her concerns in fear of scaring Draco away. "I'm sure he was a very different man out of the classroom," she said instead, pretending to pick at a hangnail.

"Oh, absolutely!" Draco affirmed, shaking his head. "He was kind, attentive – still sarcastic and snarky as hell, but at least he was a bit less greasy."

Hermione laughed loudly before covering her mouth, embarrassed. "Sorry," she apologized, lowering her hand and blushing. "I have an awful laugh."

"No!" Draco said quickly and loudly, reaching out to grab Hermione's hand. "I – well, it's not my place to say, but I think you have a lovely laugh."

Hermione was very aware of Draco's heat as he held her hand between his, their knuckles fitting perfectly together. "Thank you," Hermione said breathlessly, not moving. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Really?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'd have thought that Weasle – Ron would have told you that a lot."

Hermione looked down at the ground. "No, not really," she admitted. "We didn't really get to talk much."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the pair as neither one knew what to say next, yet they both knew that something needed to be said. "Look, Hermione," Draco finally blurted, not letting go of her hand. "About the other night -"

"HERMIONE!" a voice called out from across the lake. "IT'S THE GIANT SQUID! IT'S SWIMMING WITH ME! COME LOOK!"

"Oh my goodness!" Hermione cried, beaming at Draco. "Want to come see the squid?"

Draco looked slightly deflated. "Um, I didn't bring my bathing suit."

"That doesn't matter," Hermione scolded, pulling Draco to his feet. "Come on!"

Pulling off her shirt and quickly shucking off her jean shorts, Hermione jumped up onto a rock by the water's edge. "Come on!' she called out again to Draco who was watching her with wide eyes. "It'll be fun!"

When Draco shook his head again, Hermione shrugged and jumped into the black, deep waters, loving the feeling of being completely and totally submerged in a silent, safe dream world. After she came up to take a breath, her heart sank seeing that Draco was no longer standing on the beach.

Hours later, after dinner, Hermione was sitting in the common room with her book open on her lap. Her mind was wandering, however. _I totally interrupted Draco this afternoon…what an idiot I am…_

Haunted by her actions earlier that day, she began to pace. _Damndamndamn, I'm so stupid!_

Suddenly, a loud noise made Hermione turn around. Draco's raven, Étoile, was perched on the edge of the chair that Hermione had just been sitting in. The raven cawed again and extended her leg. "For me?" Hermione asked the bird, puzzled.

Tentatively reaching forward, she grabbed the rolled-up parchment and opened it.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I wish that I could've joined you this afternoon in your pursuit of the giant squid – it looked liked fun! Unfortunately, I had homework to attend to, and had to leave you to your hunting._

_ However, I by no means consider our conversation finished! I was wondering if you'd care to come out with me tomorrow evening? I know it's short notice, and you've probably got plans, but I figured that it might be nice to see each other outside of Hogwarts. Please let me know whether or not you could make it._

_I'd love to continue our discussion together._

_~Draco_

Pausing to think for just a moment, Hermione quickly fetched a quill and parchment to scribble her reply;

_Yes. _

_A/N: OK, I'm sorry that this got posted so late! Hopefully y'all like it though, 'cause I put off /a lot/ of homework to write it. XD Hopefully the next chapter will be coming your way on Sunday (September 30th) or Monday (October 1st). Please please PLEASE R&R, it really makes my day reading all of your thoughtful comments. :)  
Also, there's a male, twelve-year-old Hogwarts student that's going to be introduced in a couple of chapters...does anyone have any cool ideas for a name? PM me or comment if you doooo! :) :) _

_~sneakyslytherin_


	8. Tabula Rasa

Saturday dawned crisp and clear, the sun peeking up from beyond the hills and tinting the trees' orange leaves into gold. A distinct chill hung in the air, and anyone who had ever lived in the northern hemisphere before would know that the first real frost was on its way, which would be followed closely by the first real snow. As Hermione surveyed this scene, wrapped in her robe, she smiled. _Sweater season, _she thought happily. _I love fall._

The door to the common room opened and closed. "Awake already?" a familiar friendly voice said.

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "What can I say, I'm an early riser."

There was a silence as Harry walked over to where Hermione was standing. He was dressed in jogging clothes, so Hermione assumed that he'd been out for his morning run. Even before the battle with Voldemort, Harry had been very concerned about his own personal fitness; it seemed now that the tension had receded, Harry continued to set a very high physical standard for himself.

"Have you tried Dreamless Sleep?" he asked her quietly, checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was there. "I know that the therapists say not to use it, but it's the only way I survive."

"You're not addicted, are you?" Hermione said quickly, her eyes widening as she looked at her best friend.

"No! No, of course I'm not!" he protested, mildly outraged. "Do you think I'm that stupid? It's not like I use it every night!"

"Of course," Hermione said, deflating. "Sorry Harry."

"No, it's ok," he said, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her head so that it rested on his shoulder. "You worry too much for me 'Mione."

"You need someone to worry for you," she mumbled, closing her eyes. She could feel the heavy curtain of sleep pressing in on the edges of her consciousness, but Hermione pushed back. _No nightmares. Not today._

"So, is it true?" Harry asked, sounding excited. "Are you going out with Draco tonight?"

Hermione's head flew off of Harry's shoulder. "How do you know?" she hissed, narrowing her eyes.

Harry shrugged, smiling. "I have my sources," he said cryptically, giving a wink. "But don't worry, only me and Gin know."

"Oh?" Hermione said, smiling. "And, let me guess, you're going out with Ginny tonight?"

"Erm, we're, uh, staying in, actually," Harry said, blushing and absentmindedly ruffling his hair. "Uh, this, erm, no one's going to be in our common room tonight."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and nodded, grinning. "I see…what's everyone else doing?"

Harry began to list everyone's commitments, ticking them off on his fingers as he named them. "Hannah and Neville are going to see some famous herbologist speak in Edinburgh, Dean and Seamus are heading over to George's to test some products, Lavender, Padma, and Susan are all going shopping in Hogsmeade, Justin is visiting his mum, Michael is heading over to Diagon Alley, and I think Luna has a date with her mysterious boyfriend."

"…mmhmm. And I'm sure everyone spontaneously decided to be busy tonight, and you didn't give anyone ideas, or anything." Hermione put her hands on her hips and looked accusingly at her friend.

"Um, well, have fun tonight!" Harry said, ducking his head and heading to the room that he and Neville shared.

"You too Harry!" Hermione called after him. "Enjoy your time with Ginny!"

Harry turned around and flashed one of his famous lopsided smiles. "Thanks 'Mione."

Hermione was trying very hard not to laugh at Luna's outfit; the blonde was being picked up by her "mysterious boyfriend", and had chosen to wear an ankle-length red velvet dress, a dark-blue men's blazer, a large fedora, and combat boots. "Um, Luna," Hermione said, putting a lot of effort into not collapsing on the ground in laughter, "do you know where you and Rolf are going tonight?"

Shrugging, the blonde turned to the mirror to put on her butterbeer cork necklace. "I have absolutely no idea. Rolf likes to surprise me, so I dress for anything." Hermione turned her snort into a subtle cough. "Oh, and by the way Hermione, you look lovely tonight. Are you meeting someone?"

Hermione had spent an insane amount of time deciding on her outfit, and was pleased that Luna had commented on it. After hours of dithering, Hermione had eventually decided on her dark skinny jeans and ankle boots, complimented by a white blouse and belt. _Not to formal, not too casual. Plus, it still makes me look good. I wonder if he'll be wearing another one of those bloody turtlenecks…._

"No, I'm not meeting anyone too special," Hermione lied, fiddling with her hoop earrings absentmindedly. "Just a friend for some drinks."

"Well, have fun!" Luna said, gathering up her skirts and going to head out the door. "Don't make too much noise if you come back late, alright?"

Hermione nodded and gave her friend a quick peck on the cheek. "Of course. Enjoy your night with Rolf."

Watching Luna leave, Hermione counted to fifteen. She then walked brusquely out of her room and knocked on Draco's door twice. A blonde head popped out, looked back and forth, and then met Hermione's gaze. "Is the coast clear?" he asked nervously.

"Yes," she said, exasperatedly pulling on Draco's sleeve. "I don't see why you're so paranoid. Good grief."

Draco exited his room and closed the door behind him. "I just don't want people to talk, you know? It's bad enough that they talk about me, you don't need them talking about you."

"I don't really care," Hermione said lightly, taking in Draco's white button-up dress shirt and black slacks. "Shall we go?"

Draco was caught looking up and down Hermione's body. "Um, yeah! Let's get out of here before people start to come back."

Walking awkwardly side-by-side, Draco and Hermione travelled down to the main floor and out the gates in silence. Only when they reached the apparition point did Draco move to take Hermione's hand. She flinched away instinctively, and then mentally kicked herself. _Stupid Granger._

"It's just side-along apparition," Draco said slowly, once again reaching out to Hermione. "I promise I won't do anything more."

Nodding, Hermione held out her hand which Draco enveloped in his; his skin was so warm and dry, heating her cool skin and creating the oddest feeling in the base of her stomach. _Nausea? Apprehension? Excitement? _

"Ready?" Draco asked, looking Hermione in the eye.

"Of course," she said, smiling, meeting his gaze.

With a pop, Draco and Hermione left the Hogwarts grounds and were transported to a busy Scottish thoroughfare. "Where are we?" Hermione asked, looking around at various blinking neon signs, people dressed in sparkly clothing, and the dozens of automobiles streaking by.

"Some big town in Scotland," Draco said, shrugging. "I thought it'd just be a pain to have to pay the international apparition toll."

Hermione nodded, completely agreeing with Draco's decision. "Great. So, we're in some big city…where are we going? Out for dinner?"

"…kind-of…."

"Oh lord, we're not going to a night club, are we?" Hermione grew pale at the thought. _I can't dance. I'll look like a total idiot._

"No, not really," Draco said slowly, pulling Hermione out of the way of a passing cyclist. "It's kind-of a…a….musical bar."

"….a musical bar."

"Yeah! You know, like, it's a bar, but you can dance if you'd like."

"…so, a night club."

"No, not really!" Draco sighed, exasperated, and put his hand between Hermione's shoulder blades. She started when he applied a light pressure. "Just come with me and you'll see what I mean. If you don't like it, you can leave."

Knowing that she had an escape route, Hermione reluctantly let Draco guide her down the street and through a small black doorway hidden between a strip club and a disco place. _…sketchy. Very, very sketchy._

"I know it looks a bit dodgy, but trust me – this place is great!" Draco seemed genuinely excited, the low lighting making his eyes seem bright.

Hermione lightly sent out her magic, feeling no resistance as she pushed it towards the walls of the building. _Ok, no anti-apparition wards. If things get bad, I can just….poof. _

Smiling silently at her inside joke with herself, Hermione stopped behind Draco at a second door. The Slytherin seemed nervous, and Hermione watched him fidget as he turned to face her. "Um, just before we go in, I thought that you should know that this is a muggle place. Uh, so, like, no magic, and um, if this isn't your thing that's totally ok."

Hermione just arched an eyebrow. "I'm a muggleborn, remember?" she said coolly. "I can deal with not using magic."

Draco blushed furiously. "Oh, um, of course. Well, uh….ok then."

The two stood awkwardly in the poorly-lit hallway, staring at each other. "So, are you planning on going into the room or just standing out here?" Hermione asked kindly, her words not meant to hurt.

Nodding, Draco smiled and pushed open the door lightly. "Sorry," he said softly. "I'm just nervous."

Hermione grabbed Draco's hand and squeezed, making the blonde's head shoot up and his eyes go wide. "You have nothing to be nervous about," she said, earnestly meeting his gaze. "I'm not here to judge you, I'm just here for a good time."

"Right," Draco said slowly, ruffling his hair.

Hermione paused for a moment, thinking, and then a large smile stretched across her face. "Hey, Draco, I have an idea!" she said, excited.

Draco raised a single blonde eyebrow. "…should I be worried?"

Sighing, Hermione let go of Draco's hand and took a step back. She then extended her right hand. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. My friends call me 'Mione, my parents called me Mia. What's your name?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Granger, you know my name -"

"No, sorry, I don't," Hermione said, feigning confusion. "I'm fairly certain that we've never met before, and I know nothing about you." She wiggled the fingers of her still-extended hand. "It's a blank slate, stranger – want to get to know me?"

Draco hesitated, his brow furrowed. Suddenly, he broke into a grin and grasped Hermione's hand with his. "Hello Hermione, I'm Draco Malfoy. I have no nicknames – well, that's not true. Some people call me Ferret, but I'd rather you not call me that."

Hermione nodded sagely, still holding Draco's hand. "I can understand that. Well, Draco, did you want to go in?"

Giving Draco's hand one final squeeze, Hermione breezed past the young man and into the room. What she saw stopped her in her tracks and took her breath away; there was a bar, yes, but there were also several tables and a large dance floor. The bar stools and dance floor were filled with people wearing plaid, and loud music was blasting from a speaker in the corner of the room. Barely visible through all of the sawdust in the room, the floor seemed to be worn with long years of being danced on. Hermione immediately recognized the song being played. "A country bar?" she squealed, whirling around to face a wincing and apprehensive Draco. "This is wonderful!"

Relief didn't even begin to describe the look on Draco's face. "You like country?" he asked, excited.

Hermione nodded furiously. "I _love _country! My Mum went to university in the southern United States, and kind-of brought the obsession back home with her."

"That's cool!" Draco said, steering Hermione towards an empty table far-ish away from the speaker. "What did your mum do for a job?"

"Both my parents were muggle dentists," the witch explained, looking over the drink menu. "Dad went to school here in Britain but met Mum when he was in Alabama on an internship. They fell in love, and she came back with him to England after she finished school. They got married, and then established their own private practice in Cornwall." Pausing, Hermione looked up and saw that Draco was genuinely interested in her ramble. Smiling, she asked, "So, what do your parents do?"

Draco seemed hesitant. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Draco gave a half-smile and mumbled, "Clean slate", before meeting Hermione's gaze again. "My mum started out working as a healer, actually. My parents had a whirlwind romance, and after they married my mum quit her job to raise me. Mum – well, she passed away recently, so now it's just me and my dad."

Hermione waited silently for Draco to comment about Lucius, reminding herself to remain impassive and non-judgmental. Just then, the waitress came over and broke the silence. "Hello, darlings – would either of you like somethin' to eat or drink?"

"Yes please," Hermione said politely. "Could I get a draught Budweiser please? And maybe a cheeseburger with a salad?"

Nodding and jotting down Hermione's order, the pleasant waitress nodded. "And you, sir?" she asked Draco.

"The same please," Draco said quickly, putting the menu back in-between the salt and pepper shakers.

"Aww, that's adorable!" the waitress said, giggling. "You and your girlfriend are so cute."

She dashed away, leaving a wide-eyed Hermione and an open-mouthed Draco. "Girlfriend?" Hermione mouthed to Draco.

Draco snapped his mouth shut and shrugged. "Easy mistake, I guess. But, I mean, I barely know you, right?" The blonde winked, and Hermione smiled.

"So, Draco," she continued, playing with her sleeve. "You were telling me about your parents."

"Yes," Malfoy said slowly, tracing a pattern onto the table with his finger. "Um, my dad…well, he, uh, didn't work. He inherited a lot of money from his parents, and he continued to invest it wisely."

"Very cool," Hermione said, smiling. "He sounds like an interesting guy."

Draco winced. "He was an interesting man, I guess, but he was too busy with his…erm…_hobby _to really have much time for being a dad."

A strong hatred for Lucius Malfoy bubbled up into Hermione's chest. _That no good, lousy son of a - _"That's horrible. I couldn't imagine not having a father figure present in my life," Hermione admitted out loud, silencing her mental rant.

"Well, I had a great father figure in my godfather," Draco said, smiling. "He was a wonderful guy – a bit eccentric, and hard to get along with if you didn't know him really well, but for me he was amazing."

"I'm glad that you had such a great godfather," Hermione said, completely dismissing her preconceived image of Snape. "He sounds like a really neat guy."

"He was brilliant, really," Draco said vehemently, leaning towards Hermione across the table. "I mean, Sev was _so _incredibly smart it was ridiculous – he was the youngest potions master of the Common Era! – but he knew how to make me laugh, what to say when I was hurt, and when to lend a hand."

"What did you two do together?" Hermione asked, trying to keep Draco on a subject that he was obviously so passionate about.

"Oh, everything! He's the reason why I'm into country music – I mean, Sev listened to everything, but his Lucinda Williams records really got me interested in country."

"Records?" Hermione interjected, still trying to picture her dour, snarky professor as a country fan. "Did you say records?"

"Mostly 45s," Draco said nonchalantly, smiling. "He refused to buy CDs, said that they were muggle computer abominations."

The blonde started to laugh softly as his mind drifted into some obviously treasured memory. "I wish I could have really known him," Hermione thought out loud, watching the young man across from her.

"Very few people_ really _did," Draco said sadly. "But, I mean, that's something that we had in common – we allowed very few people to get close to us. Usually the ones we loved only managed to wound our hearts." Jerked out of his depressing reverie by the start of an upbeat song, Draco met Hermione's gaze, wide-eyed. "Sorry!" he blurted out. "That was totally depressing."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't worry about it – we're being totally honest with each other, remember? Anything's fair game for discussion."

A cunning look passed across Draco's face as he thought silently for a moment. "Ok, if we're going to put zero barriers up…." - Hermione paled - "Have you been in any previous relationships, Hermione?"

_Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit! _Hermione thought, closing her eyes. _I totally set myself up for this. _In her stomach, the Ron-Monster began clawing at her insides, sending shooting phantom pains up her spine. _Well, I promised total honesty, didn't I? No backing out now…_

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Hermione said calmly, appearing completely composed. "I just ended a relationship."

"Oh?" Draco said, obviously trying very hard to hide a smirk. "_You _are the one who ended it?"

Hermione nodded shortly. "Yes." The Ron-Monster felt like it had just ripped out one of her lungs.

"…may I ask why?"

"You can ask, I just may not feel like answering," Hermione joked, allowing a small smile to creep onto her face. Draco gave her a small smile back, and then made a circling motion with his hands as if to say 'go on'. Hermione sighed. "He expected far too much of me, in far too short a time," she said bluntly, trying not to wince as the Ron-Monster clawed its way up her throat. "I wasn't ready to take such…drastic steps. So I ended it."

Draco nodded politely. "I see. And was this boy ok with you ending the relationship?"

"Not at first," Hermione said slowly, measuring her words carefully. "however now I believe that he's found another girl more….suited to his desires."

Draco snorted, and the sound was so ridiculous and undignified that Hermione had to giggle, and pretty soon the both of them were doubled over in spontaneous laughing fits. Deep in her chest, she felt the Ron-Monster fall dormant once more. "Hermione," Draco gasped, taking a moment to collect his breath. "You really have a way with words. This boy is far worse off having lost you."

Touched by Draco's honest comment, Hermione blushed. "So, Mr. Total Honesty," she said, attempting to lighten up the conversation. "Have _you _been in any relationships recently?"

Draco shrugged. "Nothing serious, really – no girl has actually caught my fancy - although a few months ago I saw this one healer who was just a _stunner_!"

Hermione's head shot up and she was about to criticize Draco until she saw the smirk on his face. _Oh, right. He's joking._ Smiling, Hermione nodded. "I see. So, has this 'stunner' medi-witch encouraged you to pursue a career in medicine?"

Shaking his head, Draco grimaced. "Merlin no! I could never actually _work _with sick people! It'd be far too depressing."

"Alright then," Hermione said, taking a sip of her beer that had just arrived. "What _do _you want to do for a living? I assume that you're still in school."

"I don't really know…I've always been passionate about potions, particularly thanks to Sev, so I've been thinking something in that field. But I genuinely doubt that I'll ever be able to get a job, what with my statusin the wizarding world."

Draco looked expectantly at Hermione as he waited for her to comment on his vague aspirations and black predictions. Biting her lower lip thoughtfully, Hermione thought about all the potions careers that would be interesting for Draco. "Well, maybe rather than being a healer, you could be a potions master for a hospital?" she suggested, shrugging. "I mean, all hospitals need expert wizards or witches to brew their prescriptions. You'd be at university for quite a few years to get your potions mastery, but the pay is amazing. Plus you'd be able to stay out of the public eye, so no one would judge you or care."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Not a bad idea, Hermione," he said, smiling. "You've obviously done some research into potions-related careers – is that what you're hoping to specialize in?"

"In a way," Hermione said, tilting her head. "I'd really like to be a healer, but specifically focus on children. I don't think I could deal with the permanent spell-damage cases" – the thought of Neville's parents and Professor Lockheart made her shudder – "but kids…well, kids would be interesting for me."

"I see," Draco said. "Do you think you'll want children of your own? A family?"

"Eventually," she admitted. "but not right away. I mean, some of my friends want children as soon as they graduate, but I'd much rather settle down in a career and spend time finding the man that's absolutely perfect for me." She slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh Merlin, I'm sorry! I've said way too much!"

Tapping the side of his head, Draco grinned. "Total honesty, remember?"

Just then the waitress arrived with their cheeseburgers and salads. "Do you two need anythin' else?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.

"I don't think so, right Hermione?" Draco said, winking across the table.

"Oh, your name's Hermione?" the waitress gushed. "What a be-a-utiful name!"

"It really is, isn't it?" Draco agreed with the waitress, looking at the blushing girl across from him.

"Uh, thank you," Hermione stuttered, looking down at her salad.

As Hermione and Draco started eating their dinners, the waitress didn't appear to move. She just stood right beside their table, staring that the couple. _Well, this is awkward_, Hermione thought, flashing a glance at an equally weirded-out Draco. _What does she expect us to do, start singing?_

Long, awkward moments passed as the waitress just stood there, watching them. The song suddenly switched from a sad tune to an upbeat rhythm that Hermione immediately recognized. From Draco's sudden smile, she assumed that he knew it too. "Let's go dance, Hermione," Draco said, dropping his fork and extending his hand. "I love this song."

Nodding and looking for any possible way to escape the creepy waitress, Hermione took Draco's hand and followed him out onto the dance floor. "I'm not very good at dancing," she shouted, attempting to be heard over the music.

"Neither am I!" Draco yelled back. "Just go with the flow!"

Following the blonde's advice, Hermione just let the words of the song take over her mind and slowly pull her body into a rhythm.

Hermione felt the pull of the music, sending her hips moving and her head bobbing, drawing her closer to the undeniably attractive man across from her.

A mere half-step away from Draco, Hermione met his grey gaze and smiled a genuine happy smile. Draco grinned back, and the swelling crescendo of the music sent them both into a world that was entirely their own; a separate bubble where there were nothing but grey eyes, brown eyes, smiles, and songs.

Hermione was now a hair's breadth away from a furiously dancing Draco, and she could hear her pulse hammering in her ears. She didn't break eye contact with Draco, though. She didn't know if it would have been physically possible to stop staring into those seas of grey.

"I freaking love Lady Antebellum!" a rowdy male dancer beside Hermione shouted, grabbing her shoulders and attempting to pull her towards him. The connection between Draco and Hermione was broken, and so was the magic bubble of privacy.

"Hey!" Draco said, pushing the guy lightly away from Hermione. "This is my girl! Go get your own!"

The obviously drunk patron lifted his arms, palms out, towards Draco in a gesture of submission. "Sorry man, I didn't know she was taken. G'night miss."

Looking back at Draco, Hermione smiled gratefully. "Thanks," she shouted. "He looked like a greaseball."

Draco laughed. "How could you tell?" he joked.

"I only ever attract greaseballs," Hermione said, shrugging as the song came to an end. The dancers clapped, not giving Draco time to respond to Hermione's comment.

The deep, resonant voice of the DJ came on over the speakers. "Alright you lovebirds, this one's for you – live it up while you're young, and come out here and dance!"

Just about everyone in the bar stood up and came out onto the dance floor to join in the dance, leaving Draco and Hermione in a situation that was most definitely awkward. "Looks like we're here for the night," Hermione laughed, motioning to the walls of people around them.

The first few notes of the song came on, and Hermione melted.

Almost naturally, Draco and Hermione stepped together in-time with the music. Draco placed his hands lightly on Hermione's waist, and she rested her arms on his shoulders; _We fit perfectly_, Hermione thought as the two swayed in time to the music. There was still a bit of space, however, between the couple's chests. That space spoke volumes to Hermione; _Do I get closer? Do I stay back?_

Taking a deep breath, Hermione closed the small gap that still rested between herself and Draco. She rested her head on his shoulder, oblivious to the blonde's sudden stiff posture, and relaxed into his arms. After a heartbeat, Draco un-tensed and lifted one of his arms around Hermione's back to cradle her head. And then, suddenly, the song was coming to an end.

There was a smattering of applause as couples cleared the dance floor, and Hermione and Draco stepped reluctantly away. Cold air seemed to cover Hermione when she pulled back from Draco, and she immediately missed his warmth. "Thank you for the dance, Hermione," Draco said, bowing slightly.

"It was my pleasure Draco," she replied, nodding her head.

Checking his watch, he grimaced. "It's getting late," Draco supplied, "we should probably head back."

A pang filled Hermione's chest as she realized that their magical night was coming to an end. "Alright," she said quietly. "We'd better go."

After settling the bill, Hermione and Draco walked out of the bar and to the dark apparition point. This time Hermione didn't flinch when Draco took her hand; this time, she subconsciously welcomed its presence.

Arriving on the outskirts of the grounds, Hermione and Draco walked silently up towards the common room. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, though. They were both comfortable with the easy camaraderie that hung in the air between them. It was only when they reached the doors to their dorms that Hermione realized she hadn't let go of Draco's hand after they had apparated.

Quickly, she pulled her hand back under the pretense of searching for her key. "Well, thank you for the wonderful evening Draco," she said quietly, looking up into his mesmerizing eyes.

"Thank _you_, Hermione," Draco replied, flashing his crooked smile. "The pleasure was entirely mine."

There was a moment where they both stood there, inches apart, so close to something that Hermione couldn't quite describe. A precipice? A leap of faith?

But then the moment passed, and nothing happened. Hermione smiled, opened her door, and left Draco standing just outside of her room.

The entire night, however, she couldn't sleep. She felt as if something was missing, or something should have happened…but it didn't.

Had she missed a chance that she didn't even know she had?

_A/N: Ok, I'm sorry that this is a bit late - my life sort of ran away on me, haha. But, here it is! This upcoming weekend is Canadian Thanksgiving though, so I'm actually going to be travelling and not close to my computer. I'm hoping to post another chapter maybe tomorrow night (October 2nd), but if that doesn't work out I probably won't be posting until after I get back (October 9th). So plesae, bear with me!_

_Also, sorry for all the squiggly lines interspered throughout the dance scene. I had "copyrighted song lyrics" in this chapter, and someone threatened to report me, so I had to take them out. Just...imagine an upbeat country song in the first bit, and a slow love song in the second bit. I'm so incredibly sorry to do that to you, dearest readers, but I'd rather not get kicked off the site. :( I'M SORRY!_

_And, in response to Honoria Granger's request for details about the student I'm hoping to introduce in the next couple chapters, here's some information. I don't want to give too much about his personality since that would kind-of give his part of the story away, but here's a bit of an outline:_

_Blood status: half-blood House: Ravenclaw Siblings: One older brother _

_Physical description: short (he's still young), dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin, freckles. _

_Wow. That was a long AN. XD Love y'all! ~sneakyslytherin_


	9. Olive Branches

You could've heard a pin drop in the Great Hall on Monday morning. Everyone at the eighth-year table was eating in silence, no one wanted to make eye contact, blink, or breathe too loudly by accident. Susan kept glaring at Lavender, who was shooting dirty looks at Dean and Seamus, who – for once – weren't speaking to each other.

Today was the day that McGonagall was announcing the TA positions.

When the bell for first period rang, Hermione and Draco shot out of their seats and walked quickly towards the transfiguration classroom. "That was the most awkward meal I've ever been to," Draco whispered conspiratorially, "and believe me; I've been to _a lot _of awkward meals."

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth to stop from laughing loudly. "If you've been to so many awkward meals, I'd have thought you'd be an expert at dissolving the tension," she said quietly, grinning.

Draco smirked. "Ah, now that is an art I have yet to perfect," he said, pretending to be wistful. "Maybe we should attend some classes?"

Laughing softly, Hermione paused as Draco insisted on opening the classroom door for her. He then proceeded to sit at the desk beside her and take out his parchment, quill, and ink. Hermione studied him as he pulled his items out of his bag, periodically tugging on his sleeves. _That's a really noticeable nervous habit, _Hermione noted, tilting her head. _He does that all the time. Maybe if he'd actually __**not **__wear a long-sleeved shirt, he'd stop…_

Hermione was amazed that things hadn't become awkward after her and Draco's night together in the country bar. The next day, they had met in the Great Hall at breakfast and had spent the day studying together; it had been quite wonderful, really. They were totally at ease with one another, and Hermione had been able to help Draco with History of Magic while he had given her a hand with their massive project in Astronomy. _We're quite compatible partners, _Hermione thought to herself, not realizing the double meaning that her words possessed.

While she was setting up for class, Hermione heard the rest of their year file in. Harry and Neville came to sit behind Hermione and Draco, while everyone else sat awkwardly away from the people they were fighting with; Sean and Dean sat in desks on opposite sides of the classroom from one another, Susan and Lavender refused to be on the same side of the room, and Justin was sitting beside a stunned and silent Hannah. Hermione didn't realize that she had been holding her breath until McGonagall swept into the room, her excitement breaking the cloud that hung over the room.

"Good morning, class!" she said exuberantly, clutching a pile of papers to her chest. "As you all know, over the weekend your other Professors and I have reviewed your applications and decided who is going to be placed where." Pausing for dramatic effect, her fingers poised at the top of the first paper, McGonagall's eyes swept over the classroom. Everyone was on the edge of their seats, including Hermione. "Be aware that these positions are final and non-negotiable," she said finally, passing out the papers face-down on everyone's desk. "Please do not turn over your page until I give you leave to do so."

"This is a bit intense, isn't it?" Hermione whispered to Draco.

The blonde nodded. "I feel like it's the sorting all over again," he said quietly. "This is way too pressure-filled."

Hermione counted the sixteen "clicks" that McGonagall's shoes made as she walked up the aisle from the back of the class to the front. Whirling around dramatically in her green tartan robes, she smiled. "Alright students, please turn over your pages….now!"

The crinkle of paper was heard all across the room as students flipped over their pages to read the near-identical letters;

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thank you for your thoughtful application – the quality of writing and experience made the choices for your teacher's assistant positions very difficult, however, after much deliberation, we decided to place you in_

_ POTIONS_

_We hope that you find your experience helping to teach this class both educational and enlightening._

_Sincerely, _

_The Hogwarts Staff_

Smiling, Hermione glanced over at an equally-satisfied-looking Draco. "Did you get what you wanted?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yup. You?"

"Yeah. What class did you get?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Oh Merlin, I never told you! I applied for the potions post – apparently I got it. And you?"

"Potions!" Hermione squealed. "We're going to be working together!"

With an insanely huge grin splitting his face, Draco looked like he was about to say something more when a tap on her shoulder turned Hermione around. "Hey, 'Mione," Harry hissed. "What'd you get?"

"Potions," Hermione answered softly. "And you?"

"DADA," Harry said proudly. "I was really worried that they weren't going to let me in because…well…you know…."

Nodding, Hermione turned to Neville. "Did you get Herbology Nev?"

"Yeah!" he said, his joy obvious.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?" a loud voice called out from the other side of the classroom.

Hermione, Neville, Harry, and Draco all turned to watch a positively livid Dean Thomas slam his letter down on McGonagall's desk. To her credit, the cat-like professor only arched her eyebrow. "Language, Mr Thomas," she said sternly. "Now, what is it that you're so concerned about?"

"You have me TAing bloody _HISTORY OF MAGIC!_" Dean shouted, a vein in his temple throbbing, his hands clenched and his eyes wide. "My first choice was DADA, which I obviously didn't get because your precious prodigy _Potter_ got it -" – Dean spat furiously with each 'p', his anger building with every word he spoke – "- my second choice was COMC, which I also, quite obviously, _didn't get_, and my third choice was Charms. Why the _HELL _did you sods put me into _HISTORY OF BLOODY MAGIC?"_

Dean was panting when he reached the end of his rant, his letter now crumpled beyond all recognition in his fist. Still completely composed, McGonagall stood up to her full height – still a solid six inches shorter than Dean, but intimidating none the less – and glared at the angry boy before her. "Mister Thomas, I recommend that you consider your words carefully," the professor warned, her eyes turning a darker shade of blue. Hermione and Draco shared a wide-eyed look. "Us 'sods' put much careful consideration into your posting, and believe that you are perfectly suited for the post."

Snorting, Dean crossed his arms. "Oh yeah? Why, because I'm such a stupid lug I could never succeed doing anything else?" he asked scathingly. "Or is it because Professor Binns feels that he could suck the life out of me?"

McGonagall shook her head. "What that course needs Mister Thomas is someone who can bring history to life! Hogwarts' grades in History of Magic are horrendous, and we fear that it's because of Binns' teaching methods. We selected you so that you could get the children _interested _in history, and keep them awake!"

Dean remained unmoved. "Find another bloody guinea pig," he spat, throwing his paper down onto the floor. "I'm not putting up with this crap."

Storming out of the classroom, Dean slammed the door. Everyone listened to his fading footsteps, and McGonagall glared icily at the door. "Would anyone else like to voice their complaints?" she asked in a tone that suggested everyone should remain silent. When no one raised their hands, the professor smiled coldly. "Wonderful. You're expected to report to your assigned professor this evening during study hall to plan your first lessons. Class dismissed."

But of course, no one left the class; everyone quickly moved into a clump at the center of the room to discuss their new TAs. "Who got Defense?" Lavender asked, staring down Justin and Sean.

"I did," Harry said quietly.

Lavender nodded, her lips curving up into a half-smile. "Figured as much," she sighed, looking at her paper. Still, I _am _pretty wonderful at Charms…."

"You got DADA Potter?" Susan's voice rang out, clear and unemotional.

"Um….yeah," Harry said slowly, tilting his head up to meet Susan's eyes (she stood a solid four inches taller than the petite saviour).

"Looks like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, partner," the witch said coolly, extending her hand.

Looking at the extended hand like it might explode, Harry gingerly reached forward and shook quickly before taking a step back. "Hopefully we can both bring our expertise to the table," he said, filling the tense silence.

Susan nodded brusquely. "Both of us can show that Prewitt a thing or two, maybe actually teach the younger years some valuable defense and attack spells."

"Hopefully they'll never need them," Harry said somberly, his eyes sad. (Hermione noticed that her friend didn't disagree with Susan's jab at Prewitt – _she really is a twit though_, the witch thought.)

Hermione heard the click of Susan's boot heels as she stood up a bit straighter. "You never know, Potter," she said darkly. "There are still Death Eaters out there, just waiting to become the next dictator." With a pointed glare at Malfoy, Susan turned on her heels and left the room, heading left towards the Great Hall.

"Who else got Charms?" Lavender said loudly, pushing past a frowning Harry. Grinning cheekily, she continued; "Who's the lucky witch or wizard that gets to work with me?"

"That'd be me, Miss Brown," a male voice squeaked.

Lavender whirled around and her face fell. "Oh, hi Justin."

Finch-Fletchly, however, couldn't have looked more ecstatic. "I'm so thrilled to have you for a partner Miss Brown – can I call you Lavender?" He grabbed ahold of Lavender's upper arm and started maneuvering out of the classroom. "I've already been discussing ideas with Flitwick, and I think we should start with….."

Lavender looked back desperately before she was pulled behind the door, and everyone burst out laughing. "Sucks for her," Seamus said. "If anyone can deal with Justin, though, she's the girl for the job."

"Hey, what'd you get Seamus?" Neville interjected.

"Care of Magical Creatures. You?'

"Herbology."

"Oh Neville!" Hannah said, her voice unnaturally high. "I got Herbology too!"

Draco rolled his eyes as Neville and Hannah's gazes met, and their eyes grew soft. "That's brilliant Hannah," Neville said softly, unconsciously moving towards the blonde girl.

"Brilliant," she said quietly, looking up, her cheeks flushed.

Seamus cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, erm, who else got COMC?" he said loudly, not able to startle Neville and Hannah out of their joint reverie.

"That's me, Seamus." Luna's airy voice carried across the classroom, and Seamus smiled.

"Wicked!" he said. "Can we do a lesson on those Knargle things that you talk about? It'd be nice to actually understand what you're talking about sometimes."

Not hearing the joking tone in Seamus' voice, Luna nodded seriously. "We need to discuss it with Hagrid – that class really doesn't cover any legitimate household magical creatures."

Raising his eyebrows, Seamus nodded silently and looked skeptically at Hermione. Sighing, she restarted the conversation. "Draco and I got Potions, which just leaves Tranfiguration. Who got McGonagall's class?"

"That's me and Michael," Padma said, holding up her letter to the light coming in from the window. Giving a devious smile, she laughed and said "Parvati will be soooo jealous!"

Michael looked his new partner up and down, his eyes wide. He was obviously still in shock that he was assigned to work with the twin. Coughing loudly, Harry said, "So Michael, you got the subject you wanted?"

Blinking slowly, Michael took a moment to register Harry's words before nodding. "Erm, yeah. I did. Sorry, I have to go – um – talk to Slughorn. See you all next class."

Dashing from the room, Michael was gone before anyone could say another word. Padma frowned. "What's got him all worked up?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

Draco shrugged. "Who knows? He's an odd duck, that one."

The remaining students nodded their agreement before they all headed off to their respective classes. "What do we have, Draco?" Hermione asked, leaning over to see Draco's schedule.

"Give me just one second," Draco said, pulling his schedule out from his sleeve. "Ah! Here we are! We have Potions."

It was then that Hermione noticed several dark brown splotches all over Draco's schedule. They seemed to be sort-of linear, but she couldn't place the substance. "Draco," she started, "what did you spill all over your schedule?"

Hurriedly, Draco folded his paper and stuffed it back up his sleeve. He shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't really notice that."

Suspicious, but mindful of Draco's very fragile bubble of privacy, she said nothing. Hermione and Draco walked silently side-by-side the entire way to class, their shoulders occasionally brushing. Rather than flinch away, Hermione longed to lean into Draco's side and increase the thrilling electric sensation that she felt whenever they touched. Shaking her head, she looked down at her feet. _Focus Granger, you can't do this to yourself._

When the group arrived in the dungeons, Harry slipped past Hermione and sat down next to Draco. Arching her eyebrow at her friend's odd behavior, Hermione sat down in the desk behind the two boys. Neville came down and sat beside her. "What's with Harry sitting up there?" he whispered, taking out his materials.

Hermione shrugged, placing a vial of rat spleens on her desk. "No idea," she replied.

"Could it be -" Neville was interrupted by Hermione's frantic shushing when Harry started to talk.

"So, Malfoy," he started awkwardly, tapping his finger on the top of his jar of bubotuber pus. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you."

"I guessed as much," Draco said dryly, beginning to copy down the day's instructions into his notebook in perfect cursive.

The blonde's tone was a perfect imitation of Professor Snape, and Hermione had to stop herself from flicking the back of Draco's head. _Can't you see that Harry's trying to talk to you, you dunderhead? _she shrieked in her mind.

Harry blushed, and Draco looked up from his notes. "Sorry," the Slytherin said. "That was incredibly rude of me. What did you want to talk about?"

Sighing with relief, Harry smiled crookedly and starting copying down the notes in his nearly illegible scrawl. "I, um, just, uh….I wanted to start over. You know, with us."

Draco's writing slowed to a stop. "…sorry?"

"I, erm, was wondering if we could try again, you know? I mean, it's really stupid that we decided to hate each other when we were eleven, and, I mean, we're _totally _different people now, and I thought that maybe we could try again if that's ok with you?"

Harry's words all came out in a blurred rush, but Draco followed every single syllable. Keeping his face neutral, the blonde chewed lightly on his lower lip. "…you're proposing a truce, Potter?" he finally said, his grey eyes locking on Harry's green.

The dark-haired boy gulped, but he sat up taller. "Yeah, yeah I am. Are….are you accepting my proposal?"

Draco tapped his long, pale finger on the desk. "Of course, Potter," he said slowly, smiling slightly. "I'd be happy to start over. That is, if this isn't a trick of some sort."

Suddenly very serious, Harry shook his head vehemently. "No, no, _no_. I would _never _do that to you, _ever_. You have my word. This is a genuine olive branch."

Looking thoughtfully at the boy beside him, Draco's gaze flicked back to Hermione. His eyes asked for her opinion, and she gave it to him with a barely perceptible nod and a wink. Draco turned back to Harry, smiled, nodded, and extended his hand.

Grinning like a madman, Harry nearly knocked over his vial of bubotuber pus in his haste to shake Draco's hand. "Brilliant! This is great Ma – can I call you Draco?"

A bit taken aback, the blonde nodded. "I don't see why, but I suppose you can call me Draco."

"Well, Malfoy is this snarky git from my early years at Hogwarts," Harry said, smiling. "_Draco _is a completely different person."

"Ah, I see," Draco said, nodding. "Then, by all means, please call me Draco. Honestly, I'll answer to anything but Ferret."

It took a moment for Harry to realize that Draco's last comment was intended to be a joke. He laughed, seemingly genuinely surprised that Draco had a sense of humour. There was a pause before Harry continued; "But that means that _you _can't call me Potter. Only teachers and old people do that."

Draco laughed lightly, and let go of Harry's hand. "Alright, Harry. Let's try this out, shall we?"

It was at that moment that Hermione truly let herself believe that this would be a wonderful normal year at Hogwarts.

_A/N: Sorry that it's a touch late, but here it is! I'm hoping to get the next chapter out by Saturday, October 13th. Please R&R!. ~sneakyslytherin_


	10. Different Dreams

A/N: I sincerely apologize for being late with these chapters, dearest readers! I happened to get extremely sick this past week, so I haven't been doing much of anything. Plus this turned into a monster chapter, and I ended up having to split it up into two...so please, forgive me! Enjoy this next installment, and please feel free to R&R. :) ~sneakyslytherin

_"Sirius!" Hermione felt joy surge through her as she looked at the tall, proud figure standing just behind the veil in the Department of Mysteries. "You're here! Just come to me!" She beckoned furiously. "Harry needs you, he's breaking down – just walk through the veil, come towards me!"_

_Unfazed, Sirius shook his head, his dark eyes staring at Hermione, unblinking. He appeared to be trying to speak, but no sound travelled across into the realm of the living._

_Rather than be joined by another ghostly figure, however, Sirius walked out of the doorway and another person came out to take his place. "…Draco?" Hermione whispered, not believing her eyes. "But, you're alive!"_

_The blonde shook his head, his grey eyes looking deep into her brown ones. His lips moved, but Hermione couldn't hear anything. Walking closer to the veil, Hermione stood a hair's breath away from the thin divide. "Draco, please don't be dead," she whispered, raising her hand up, millimeters from the veil. "You can't leave me."_

_On the other side of the doorway, Draco walked towards the veil. He came so close that Hermione could have sworn that she could touch him, yet she didn't. Draco said his phrase slowly, and Hermione realized that she could read his lips._

_"Save me," he said silently, his eyes pleading. "Save me Hermione. Please."_

_"How?" she breathed, her hand still hovering in the air. _

_Rather than reply, Draco reached his hand out, his fingertips touching the barrier. Hermione held her breath, watching Draco's movements in rapt silence. As soon as he tried to push his fingers past the barrier, however, the blonde collapsed, his face contorted in agony, his mouth open in a soundless scream. "Draco!" Hermione cried, just stopping herself from leaping down to him. "Draco, no!"_

_But he continued to thrash, his pain almost tangible through the barrier. As Hermione watched, Draco's fingertips slowly became transparent and faded away. This non-existence passed all the way down his arms, and onto his chest, and – _

"No!" Hermione shrieked, finding herself upright in bed.

A shuffling noise was heard, and the glowing orb of Luna's wandlight illuminated the room. "Hermione?" she whispered, concerned. "Are you ok?"

Her pulse hammering in her ears, Hermione nodded, breathing hard. "…yeah. Thanks Luna. Go back to bed."

Looking unconvinced, the blonde girl settled back down under the covers. "Sleep, 'Mione," she mumbled, turning to face the wall. "It's still ridiculously early."

Hermione cast a quick _tempus _and almost snorted. _Pah, five thirty? That's not early Luna, what are you talking about?_

Throwing her robe over her shoulders and sliding into her slippers, Hermione slinked out of the room silently and went to her traditional morning chair by the windowed wall. However, something felt off; there was a nagging feeling at the back of her brain, something that was haunting her about this particular nightmare. _I've never dreamt about someone __**alive **__being behind the veil before_, she thought, puzzled. _Unless….no, he's not dead. He can't be. _

Her heart rate shooting up once more, Hermione felt herself creep towards Draco's very black, very shut, very _locked _door. _Granger Granger DANGER! STOP! NOOOOOOO! _her brain shouted, blinking red lights and sounding sirens. Hermione's hand, however, ignored these warnings and reached for Draco's doorknob.

_The door will be locked, and then you can just go back to bed_, Hermione thought, her fingertips ghosting over the cold metal. _Just check._ When she applied light pressure to the gold doorknob, her heart stopped when it actually turned.

_….damn._

**_But you need to check on him! _**A strange voice echoed through Hermione's head.

_No, _Hermione's logic replied. _I'm sure he's positively fine._

**_But how do you know?_**

_I just know!_

**_….really? _**

_….damn you, you stupid inner voice._

**_You know you love me._**

Grimacing, Hermione turned the doorknob and froze once she'd completed the rotation. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open just a hair, pressing her eye up against the crack. Draco's room was the pitch black, and it took Hermione a moment to adjust to the total darkness. What she saw made her sigh happily and flush at her stupid behavior; Draco was sleeping perfectly peacefully in his bed.

_Stupid Granger, see? He's alright! Dreams are merely dreams. Now go back to bed, you ninny._

Just as she was about to close the door, Draco started thrashing.

Hermione paled. _Oh Merlin no. Not the thrashing._

As the witch watched, Draco flung all of his bed covers onto the ground and started mumbling. The words weren't very clear, however, so Hermione pushed the door open a sliver more in order to better hear the distressed boy's delirious comments.

"No!" Draco mumbled, his hand going over his chest and fisting the pillow. "Not her, please, not her…." With a loud smack, his hand pressed itself to his bare chest. "Stop, make it stop, please…."

Hermione was at a terrible impasse; go into the room, and potentially scare the bejesus out of Draco, or walk away and leave him to his nightmare. Shuddering at the thought of her own terrible dreams, Hermione took a deep breath and pushed the door open all the way. She walked slowly over to the bed, approaching the moaning boy cautiously. "Draco," she whispered, still several feet away from the bed. "Draco, wake up."

The blonde didn't break from his obviously painful nightmare. "No, please!" he said loudly, his nails digging into his shirt and the skin around his heart. "Aunty Bella, not her…"

Hermione froze. _Aunty Bella? _Her brain started whirling, putting her on the dirty floor of an old, decrepit mansion where something warm and sticky was flowing down her arm, over her palm and onto her fingertips. A mad laugh filled her mind, and Hermione winced as she was brought crashing back into reality. Draco was still dreaming.

More determined than ever to free her friend from his imaginary prison, Hermione crouched down next to the bed and placed her hand lightly on Draco's shoulder. "Draco?" she said, louder. "Draco, wake up."

The blonde still didn't wake, his hand clawing at his throat. The red nail marks on his neck looked deep, and in some of them small drops of blood were rising to the surface. Grimacing, Hermione placed her free hand on Draco's opposite shoulder and shook him with a decent amount of force. "Malfoy!" she said sharply, "Wake up!"

Before she knew it, Hermione was pinned to the ground, a wand shoved into the soft flesh of her throat, a sweaty and terrifying Draco Malfoy straddling her stomach. For a moment his eyes were strange and cold, with no recognition in them. Hermione felt her pulse hammering against the hard tip of the wand, her breath coming shallow and fast. _This was definitely not a good idea_, she thought, unable to move her hand and grab the wand in her robe pocket.

A flicker of something passed across Draco's face, and his eyes softened. For a moment they seemed elated, then confused, then finally transitioning into shock as Draco leapt off of Hermione. "Oh Merlin, Hermione, I'm so sorry!" Draco said quickly, shoving his wand into the waist of his sweatpants. "I didn't know it was you, and I must have terrified you, and -"

"It's ok Draco," Hermione interrupted, lightly rubbing her throat as she stood up. "I startled you by waking you up."

Draco paused for a moment, his head tilted, brow furrowed. "Could….could you hear me through the wall?" he asked quietly, unable to meet Hermione's gaze.

"Only a bit," she lied, looking off towards Draco's door. "I was awake already – no one who was asleep would have heard you."

The blonde looked relieved as he sank down onto the edge of his bed. Running a hand through his mussed hair, Draco sighed happily. "That's a relief. I mean, I've always been able to place a silencing charm on my rooms before, but this stupid peace tower" – Draco flung his pillow at the stone wall opposite him – "won't let me do that."

"It's ok," Hermione reassured him, taking a step closer to Draco. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes is it," Draco said, barely audible, placing his head in his hands. "I don't…I don't want people to know."

Hermione's heart lurched at Draco's honest comment, and she felt a strange connection fill the air. This time it wasn't the electricity that she so often felt when the Slytherin was in the room. Instead, it was almost a void, like the air between them needed to be filled.

"It's ok, you know," Hermione said softly, hesitantly sinking down on the bed beside him. "I have nightmares too."

Draco's head shot up, and he looked at Hermione with a masked expression. "Are they…are they about your time at…with Bellatrix?"

Nodding slowly and pushing the memories back, Hermione pulled her robe closer around herself. "Sometimes," she said softly, feeling the heat radiating off of Draco beside her. "Usually it's either that dream or one involving the dead. They try to talk to me from beyond."

Glancing up quickly to see Draco's reaction, Hermione was relieved to see only curiosity and compassion in the young man's face – no scorn, no ridicule, and no anger. "What do they say?" Draco asked quietly, his eyes soft.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione closed her eyes. "They tell me that I belong with them," she whispered. "That I shouldn't be living while so many good people died."

Hermione felt the wet warmth of tears pooling behind her eyelids, and she tried very hard to keep them back. Her breath hitched in her throat when she felt Draco's strong, solid arm around her waist and his breath by her ear. "Don't listen to them," he said quietly, his hand placed lightly on her hip. "They're not real – you fought to be here, you _fought hard_ to live. You shouldn't be held back by the dead."

Resting her cheek on Draco's shoulder, Hermione took a deep breath. Only a single tear had managed to escape her eye, and she stopped it with her finger before it could reach Draco's shirt. Heaving a ragged sigh, Hermione said, "And you, Draco? What do you dream about?"

The boy beside her was silent, but Hermione waited patiently. She didn't move out of his firm grasp, and she didn't lift up her cheek; she just waited, holding her breath, hoping that the delicate balance hadn't been shattered. "I dream of lots of things," he said quietly, his warm breath passing over Hermione's head. "Usually it's the final battle, if it isn't that then it's the meetings with the Dark Lord. Everything that happened at Malfoy Manor. Blood. Unseeing eyes."

Hermione reached for Draco's free hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "They're only dreams, right?" she said, her voice lacking conviction. "They can't hurt either of us."

Nodding, but not really agreeing, Draco pulled Hermione in a little bit closer. Neither of them moved until the first real rays of sunlight passed through the slightly-open door, illuminating the room and banishing the horror-filled night.

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

At breakfast in the Great Hall, neither Hermione nor Draco gave any exterior indication that anything had happened that night. They sat beside each other, as usual, and Draco's eyes never looked up from his plate. "So, Hermione, did you bring the lesson plan?" he asked, grabbing a piece of toast.

"Yes," she said, ruffling through the bag at her side to double-check. "I brought the page with Slughorn's notes as well as our blank one."

Taking a big bit of toast, Draco nodded. "His comments weren't really that useful," he mumbled, holding a hand over his full mouth. "I mean, it's only a _Personality Potion_, it's not like it's advanced arithmancy. Even the twelve-year-olds should get it."

Hermione nodded, completely agreeing with Draco's assessment. When the two students had arrived at Slughorn's office the previous evening, the ageing professor had seemed far more focused on his bottle of mead than the students in front of him. As a result, the lesson plan that the TAs had come up with had virtually no input from their teacher. _It'd better be a good lesson, _Hermione thought worriedly.

"Oi, 'Mione, have you seen Dean?" Hermione turned around to see Seamus standing behind her, looking worried.

"No Seamus, I haven't – is something wrong?" Swiveling her chair so that she could better see the Irish boy, Hermione tilted her head slightly.

Seamus ran a hand through his hair and sighed, his shoulders slumping. "He didn't meet up with Binns last night to plan his lesson, and no one has any clue where he is now."

Checking her watch, Hermione asked "Does his class start in ten minutes, like ours?"

Seamus nodded his head. "If he doesn't show up…well, I don't know what McGonagall will do, but I doubt Dean will get to stay here."

"He'll show up Seamus, don't worry." Neville had been listening to the conversation as he got up to leave the table. "Dean may have a temper, but he's always been logical in the end."

Neville's leaving seemed to be a cue for the other students, as everyone got up and headed off to their very first TA lessons. Draco and Hermione were the first to leave the main group of students, as the dungeons were a very isolated area of the castle. As they walked through the increasingly damp and dark corridors, a silence stretched between them. Torchlight flickered off of Draco's face as he worried his bottom lip with his teeth, eyes downcast. "Hermione," he blurted, "you won't -"

"Of course not," Hermione supplied, saving him from having to finish his phrase. "I promise."

Draco smiled, his teeth looking eerily white in the different light. "Ready for the lesson?" he asked, sending the conversation off on an entirely different topic and mood.

Shrugging, Hermione shook her head. "Well, if we're not ready now, then I guess we're going to have to give a half-ass lesson, right?" Ever practical, the witch proceeded to remind Draco of the lesson plan. "So, these are second year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs – there'll be very little house animosity, which is good, but they _are _young, and Ravenclaws do tend to get a bit big-headed, so -"

"I do remember all this from last night, you know," Draco drawled, smirking. "I don't have quite _that _bad of a memory."

Hermione met Draco's gaze, her brow furrowed. "I know you remember, I just don't like things that don't fit the mould of the plans exactly. You know I'm a perfectionist."

Draco nodded somberly to show Hermione that he understood her, but then broke into a half-smile. "It's a wonder that you survived with Potter and Weasley all those years," he said, already laughing at his own joke. "I don't think a single one of their plans ever went according to plan."

Hermione smacked Draco lightly on the arm with her potions textbook. "_Harry_," she said dramatically. "Not "_Potter_", _Harry._"

Rolling his eyes, Draco arched his eyebrow at the delightfully pesky witch beside him. "Of course," he corrected himself, "_Harry's _hair-brained schemes. You have to admit that most of them were pretty thin."

Hermione nodded reluctantly. "I always told them that," she protested, pushing open the door to the still-empty potions classroom. "They just don't like listening to me."

For the next few minutes Draco and Hermione set up the required materials for their class, the companionable silence only broken by the occasional question about an ingredient's location. At 8:59, Draco and Hermione went up to stand at the front of the class. Hermione had her hands clasped nervously in front of her, and was biting her lip furiously. Placing a soothing hand on-top of her jittery forearms, Draco drew in Hermione's gaze. Grey eyes met brown in a splendorous clash of colour. "It'll be fine Hermione," Draco said firmly but kindly, now holding Hermione's hands in his. "You're the bloody brightest witch of your age, you can deal with a few twelve year olds."

Smiling half-heartedly, Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. She could do this.


	11. Potions, Newspapers, and a Small Tornado

Breaking the silence dramatically, the bell rang and the students burst into the classroom like a particularly noisy and short explosion. The actual physical presence of the students – as well as their intimidating number, energy level, and ability to produce noise – stunned Hermione, and she froze with her mouth set into a shocked-looking smile. Beside her, Draco appeared much more composed, his only sign of nerves being that his eyes were slightly wider than usual. Nudging Hermione in the ribs to bring her to attention, Draco cleared his throat loudly.

The class fell silent, and two dozen pairs of eyes stared up at the strange older children standing where their old, incoherent potions master usually stood. Hermione attempted to make her smile a tad more genuine, while Draco kept his face neutral. "Um, good morning class!" she said, almost slapping herself for addressing them as 'class'.

"Good morning Professor Granger," a mean-spirited female voice called out from the back of the classroom.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she gave the brunette a glare that would have reduced Voldemort to ashes. Understandably, the girl paled and looked down at her hands. Putting a smile back on her face, Hermione looked back up at the significantly cowed class. "I'm Hermione Granger, as your classmate has so courteously pointed out, and this is Draco Malfoy beside me. We'll be your part-time teachers for the rest of this year, and I'm sure we'll have a great time together."

"There are, however, guidelines that you must follow." Hermione's head snapped around; Draco's voice was cool and detached, his expression aloof, and his eyes shuttered. Obviously he had decided to use his false icy exterior for teaching. _It's understandable, _Hermione thought reluctantly. _Not what I'd do, but it's his decision….but he's fidgeting. Why does he keep doing that with his hands?_

"If you listen to Miss Granger and myself, then we'll have a good year," Draco said, running his hands up and down his forearms. "However, choose to disobey us or disrespect us" – Draco glared pointedly at the outspoken brunette in the back row – "and you will have significantly less fun."

Hermione felt the mood of the class turn from excitement to fear, and she decided to jump in before Draco recreated Professor Snape's tyrannical rule. "Today's potion is fairly simple, and is primarily just for us to get to know everyone's individual style." To Hermione, her voice sounded falsely cheerful and forced. However, the class seemed to like her tone, as most of them brightened considerably. "Professor Slughorn already went over potion safety with you, so we can just jump right into the lesson!"

With an enthusiastic wave of her wand, Hermione covered the blackboard in her neat cursive, spelling out the instructions for Personality Potion. At seeing their lesson, most of the class grinned and hurried off to find various ingredients. A select few seemed a bit confused – Hermione guessed that they were most likely the students who had failed to complete Slughorn's assigned readings from the day before – and ended up leafing through their textbooks to find the potion description.

A dark haired boy from Ravenclaw raised his hand, and at a nod from Draco Hermione walked up to the front row. "Miss Granger, I did the readings but I'm not entirely sure what this potion does," he said, his brow furrowed.

The young boy's blue eyes looked expectantly up at Hermione, who smiled. "Well, a Personality Potion essentially changes colour to indicate what the primary trait of your personality is. Each colour matches a specific trait, and -"

Still looking confused, the boy interrupted. "Yes, I get that, but…how is that useful? Why would someone make this potion out of class?"

"Some employers use it in job interviews," Draco supplied from just behind Hermione. "plus sometimes people make it to test themselves." The blonde obviously held back a sigh when the boy still looked lost. "Your personality changes over time, yes? So, if you took this potion test _now_, and then took it again after ten years, you'd most likely get a different result. It's a measurement for personal growth."

"But that still seems so pointless!" the boy said, exasperated. "Why not just make medical potions, or potions that have a real point?!"

Draco fell silent, examining the testy Ravenclaw. "Not all potions need to have a direct scientific purpose," Draco said firmly, placing his hands on the boy's desk and leaning over him slightly. "and this potion happens to have a rather significant _social _use." Looking around him as if he hasn't noticed the class had started, Draco arched his eyebrows and looked down at the Ravenclaw. "You'd better get moving, buddy, if you want to finish this potion during class time."

His cheeks red and his eyes blazing, the boy shut his textbook with a loud bang. Glaring at Draco, he hissed, "The name's not _buddy_, Malfoy, it'sFabian Fairfax."

With a jolt, Draco's hands flew off the table and clasped behind his back where Hermione could see them. Gasping, she blurted out "Mister Fairfax! You will address your teacher with the respect earned by someone in our position!"

"_You _earn my respect, Miss Granger, not _him_," Fabian spat, looking Draco up and down. "My father warned me about your type, and how heartless you are. You're nothing but trouble, filthy death eater."

Draco froze, his eyes narrowed, his nails digging into his palms behind his back. Moving beside Draco as if she was approaching Fabian, Hermione placed her right hand over Draco's fist. "Detention, Mister Fairfax," she said, her voice dangerously low as she rubbed her fingers in circles over the back of Malfoy's hand.

"You know who he is, who his father is!" Fabian protested, still glaring at Draco. "My family had to go into hiding during the last wizard war, and my mother _died _because of scum like Lucius Malfoy and his spawn! Just because she was a _muggleborn_! "

Feeling Draco's hand-muscles tense, Hermione pried open his fist and clasped his hand with just enough pressure to prevent him from squeezing his nails through his skin. "Fifty points from Ravenclaw, Fairfax, for disrespecting your teachers and talking back." Not really knowing what to do to help her friend calm down, she started tracing unknown patterns with her pointer finger on Draco's palm. "I'd recommend you start your lesson now if you don't wish for your detention tonight to become a detention every night for a month."

Fabian transferred his malicious stare to Hermione, and with a final slow blink he whirled on his heel and stalked away towards the ingredient cabinet. At the last moment, Hermione let go of Draco's hand, reached out, and grabbed the Ravenclaw's upper arm to turn him around and face her. "I will take no more of your attitude in this class, Mister Fairfax, be very aware of that." Her stony glare and suddenly cold facial expression caused Fabian's eyes to go wide, and Hermione heard him swallow. "If we have another incident like this," she continued lowly, "I will have to involve Headmistress McGonagall, and she would undoubtedly involve your parents and potentially a ministry official specializing in post-war equality laws. Would you like that Fabian?" The obviously frightened boy shook his head frantically. "I thought not. Now go start your potion, and don't forget to ground the bicorn horn fully before adding it."

Resisting her strong urge to shove the impertinent brat, Hermione turned around to see a pale Draco standing at the front of the class. Hermione frowned, and noticed that Draco was running his hands up and down his arms again. _Is it a fidget, or is he cold? _she wondered.

Smiling forcedly, Hermione looked around the room. "I wonder where Slughorn is?" she asked loudly, making several students smile.

"Most likely he's just sleeping," a girl supplied from the side of the room.

The class snickered, Hermione included, and everyone turned their attention back to their potions. Hermione watched Fabian closely as he moodily threw his ingredients into an empty cauldron and slammed his materials down onto his desk loudly. The Hufflepuff girl beside him wasn't impressed by his dramatics, and she rolled her eyes. "Calm down Fabian," she whispered. "You don't want to make Miss Granger upset. She seems nice now, but rumour has it that she has _quite _the temper."

"Yeah, I figured that out," Fabian hissed, mincing his flobberworm into nonexistence.

Confused, his neighbor shook her head and looked back down at her potion which was turning a vibrant shade of aquamarine as it transitioned from one phase into another. Giving a sly smile, Hermione turned around to face Draco. Slightly more composed, the blonde was leaning against Slughorn's empty desk, his eyes surveying the classroom without really seeing anything. Hermione took a moment to appreciate the blonde's lean silhouette, his muscles clearly defined through his pull-over sweater. _Who'd have thought that the snarky eleven-year-old would turn into an eighteen-year-old sexy beast_, she thought, her eyes skimming over his arms. Following the curve of his shoulder, her eyes rested on his tired-looking expression and blank eyes. She mentally corrected herself. _An eighteen-year-old, broken-down, traumatized, scarred young man who happens to look devastatingly attractive even while he's having a nervous break-down. _

Copying Draco and leaning against the desk behind her, Hermione watched the class satisfactorily. "No one's blown anything up yet, so that's good," she said to Draco, not thinking that the stonily silent Slytherin would respond. When the expected silence answered her, Hermione shrugged and continued talking. "Maybe we can set a record and have no cauldrons blow up this year. Wouldn't that be wonderful? We'd probably get a plaque in the Great Hall, maybe even a personal thank-you from the Board of Governors, and – hey, who knows? We might even get a thank-you from the Minister of Magic! Wouldn't that be something! I mean, it's not like I see Kingsley every other month for tea…."

Hermione trailed off, disheartened by the fact that Draco's expression didn't change and he didn't appear to be even listening to her. Sighing, she looked out again over the classroom and put her hand down on the desk beside her. Hermione almost jumped when she felt a cool weight place itself over her hand; Draco's pale hand, shaking slightly, subtly rested on top of Hermione's hand for the next several moments. Finally, Hermione squeezed Draco's hand gently and smiled at him, not caring if she looked like an idiot. Closing his eyes, Draco murmured "Thank you."

"It was nothing, Draco," Hermione insisted. "He's just an idiot kid -"

"No, thank you for everything."

"…everything?"

"Everything."

"Umm….well….you're welcome. Things will get better, I promise."

A loud ringing sounded through the classroom, indicating that it was ten minutes until the class was over. Re-adjusting her face so that it was fit for a public appearance, Hermione stood up straight. "Alright everyone, bottle your potions and come around this table, please!"

Hermione watched as Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes; when he opened them again, they were indifferent and distanced, completing his stony mask. While the students did as Hermione asked and headed towards a front potion table, Hermione gave Draco's hand a final squeeze. "You'll be fine," she whispered. "Just stand there are look scary."

Draco snorted. "I can do that."

Reluctantly, Hermione pulled her hand out from under Draco's and walked towards the students. She listened to the clicks that Draco's dress shoes made as he followed her, and smiled to herself when she felt Draco's hand rest on the small of her back. A thrill of electricity shot up her spine, making her fingertips and scalp tingle. Her stomach felt like it had dropped out onto the floor, and her pulse fluttered up to approximately a million beats a minute.

When Draco and Hermione arrived in front of the table, Draco's hand still subtly on Hermione's back, the students quieted. Clutching their bottles like they were life preservers, the students looked wide-eyed at the TAs. "So, as we go around the table, you'll state your name, something about yourself, and then you'll drink your potion," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Mister Malfoy and I will tell you what colour your auras glow, and what trait that colour coincides with."

"Um, Miss," a small Hufflepuff with curly black hair raised his hand hesitantly. "What if we brewed our potion incorrectly? Will something bad happen?" Eyeing his own dark brown, clumpy potion nervously, the boy swayed on his feet.

"Absolutely not," Draco said firmly. "None of the ingredients you used were lethal. At worst, your hair will turn an interesting colour for a few hours."

Looking relieved, the boy who asked the question nodded and thanked Draco politely. "Alright, are we ready?" Hermione asked enthusiastically, smiling at the class' excited reactions. "You can go first, young man."

The boy who'd asked Draco about the potion smiled weakly, looking at his friend beside him. "Um, hello," he said slowly. "My name is Aadam Hussein, and I'm a fan of muggle comic books. Particularly Superman." Looking hesitantly at his odd-coloured potion, Aadam took a deep breath and gulped his liquid down. Grimacing, he closed his eyes. "Is my hair purple?" he asked, reaching a hand hesitantly up to touch his hair.

Draco and Hermione shared a troubled look. Where was the potion's colour? Even if he mis-brewed it, the colour would show up somewhere….."No, Mister Hussein, your hair is perfectly normal," Hermione assured him.

The young boy opened his eyes and smiled, only to become concerned because of everyone's stares. "What?" he asked, panicking and reaching for his hair again.

"Your eyes, Aadam!" a girl shouted. "They're orange!"

Flipping through her answer key, Hermione smiled. "It's alright, the colour will wear off in a few hours. According to the colour, though, your primary trait is curiosity."

Still looking worried, Aadam nodded. The girl beside him elbowed him, grinning. "It's your turn!" Aadam said, embarrassed, trying to deflect attention from himself.

Seeing Draco nod to confirm Aadam's statement, the girl grew silent. Her potion at least looked normal, which was good. Stuttering slightly, the girl said, "H-hi, m-m-my name is M-Melissa Greyland, and I l-love dolphins."

Not even pausing to look at the crowd or her potion, Melissa drank her entire beaker. The entire crowd made a sound of amazement as the air around Melissa glowed a vibrant purple. Hermione was leafing through her answer key when Draco spoke up; "Purple indicates that you're primarily conscientious."

Scrunching her nose up, Melissa mouthed the word "conscientious" to Aadam, who was silently convulsing with laughter. As the class progressed, there were two more oranges – not surprising in a Ravenclaw class – a few "rebellious" children, an "independent" Ravenclaw, a couple "reliable" Hufflepuffs, several "kind-hearted" students, and a single "ambitious". Hermione felt very smug when Fabian Fairfax's potion turned a strange green, indicating that he was "stubborn". Draco didn't let anything slip from behind his indifferent mask. After the last student had sampled their potion, Aadam raised his hand tentatively.

"Yes Aadam?"

"Well, Miss Granger….there's some left over and…maybe yourself and Mister Malfoy could try some potion?"

Smiling, Hermione gave Draco a knowing glance. Acting on the blonde's slight nod, Hermione turned to face the anxious students. "Why not?" she said nonchalantly. "It can't hurt."

A loud cheer rose up from the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and half-full flasks were shoved into Draco and Hermione's waiting hands. Hermione had taken this test a few months ago and had gotten the result "kind-hearted". Expecting the light blue shade to surround her, Hermione took a deep draught of the potion. All the children's eyes grew wide and everyone stayed silent.

Worried, Hermione turned to face Draco whose wide eyes betrayed his surprise. "What colour was it?" Hermione asked quietly, making it clear that she expected honesty.

"….silver," Draco answered quietly.

"Silver?" Hermione squeaked, covering her mouth.

The silence was broken by a young Hufflepuff named Cameron Jordan, who said loudly, "I didn't do the homework. What does silver mean?"

"Silver m-means that M-Miss Grang-ger is n-needed." Melissa looked at her teacher with a different sort of respect.

"Needed?" Cameron said loudly. "That's not a personality trait."

"Shut up stupid, that's what makes it so special!" Chase McKnight hit his friend on the back of the head. "If someone's silver, it means that _all _of their personality is needed by someone; the good, the bad, and the weird. Do your bloody reading next time, git."

Hermione should have deducted five points for the Hufflepuff's use of inappropriate language, but she was unable to move. _Silver? I'm needed? What the hell?!_

"Mister Malfoy, will you try yours?" Aadam asked, gesturing to the flask that Draco held.

Silently, Draco tipped his beaker back and waited. Hermione just about collapsed when she saw that Draco, too, was glowing silver. Surprisingly, however, the Slytherin didn't even ask what his result was. With a single wave of his wand, he transferred all the empty beakers into the cleaning area, cleared the blackboard, rearranged the desks properly, and indicated to the students that class was over.

"Thank you for your enthusiasm!" Hermione called out, watching as the confused and exhausted students left the classroom.

Well, all the students but one. Fabian Fairfax hadn't left yet. "Miss Granger," he said, "can we talk for a second?"

Stiffening, Hermione walked over to where Fabian was standing. "Yes, Mister Fairfax?" she said in a clipped tone. "Can I help you?"

"Meaning no disrespect Miss, but – why do you associate yourself with Mister Malfoy?" Fabian widened his eyes so as to look innocent, but Hermione didn't fall for it for one second. "You're a very respected witch, and you're causing a big stir by associating with that dea – Mister Malfoy."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You're walking a fine line here, Fairfax," she said sharply. "and that's my personal business. I think it'd be a good idea if you went to your next class now."

Fabian reached into his bag and pulled out the Daily Prophet. "Just know that _this _is what you choose to be friends with."

And on that ominous note, Fabian left the classroom.

Looking at the paper in front of her, Hermione winced at the headline.

_Death Eater Attacks Muggle Village; Lucius Malfoy Still At Large_

_Earlier today in a small town just outside of Brighton, Death Eater Lucius Malfoy led an attack against a well-known muggleborn family. Backed by an unknown number of supporters – eyewitnesses recall anywhere between two and two hundred masked men behind a dramatically unmasked Malfoy – Lucius broke into the Kenney household and held the family hostage for approximately two hours. Mr Jonathan Kenney, the head of the family, was severely wounded by an unknown curse and is currently in St Mungo's. His wife, Laura Kenney, escaped unscathed, but Marie, the youngest of the four Kenney children, is in critical condition….._

Hermione stopped reading. _Draco can't see this_, she thought, holding the paper behind her back. She was too late, however; Draco snatched the paper out of her hands and stood stock still as he read the entire article. Watching the blonde carefully, Hermione felt static electricity start to spark in the air, and saw as the area around Malfoy started to swirl and roil. "Draco…." she said hesitantly, taking a step towards her friend. "Just calm down -"

But Hermione's words were too little too late, and Draco's anger exploded in a demonstration of accidental magic unlike anything the witch had ever seen before. The room erupted in a veritable maelstrom, potion jars shattering, cauldrons whipping around the room at top speeds, and ingredients of all sorts being propelled into one another causing reactions mid-air. Hermione ducked to avoid a huge pewter cauldron, only to feel a horrible sensation on the left side of her face. Reaching up just below her ear, Hermione felt the sharp glass embedded in her skin and the warm blood running over her fingertips. _Shit_, she thought. _That could have been my eyes._

Knowing that she had to stop this insane chaos, Hermione took a deep breath and lunged towards the center of the storm. When she stood up, she was free from the potion room's storm; no materials came within a foot of Draco. He was standing stock still, eyes closed, chest heaving, completely oblivious to the nature of his rage. Taking a deep breath, Hermione closed the gap between herself and the Slytherin to embrace him. She felt small against his tall, lean frame, but she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her uninjured cheek to his chest. "Draco, please," she whispered, knowing that he most likely couldn't hear her. "It's ok. You aren't your father….please, stop."

Some of her words must have gotten through to him, since the ingredients, cauldrons, glass shards, and other debris immediately stopped their deadly dance and fell to the ground, inanimate. Hermione didn't move a muscle, too worried about what she might find if she looked up from her warm, safe haven. Sparks of electricity shot from Hermione's head down to her toes when she felt Draco's hand on her head, and the feeling intensified when she felt his fingers running lightly through her hair. "Thank you," he whispered again.

"What would you do without me?" she asked jokingly, ensuring that Draco's hand wouldn't touch her injured cheek – she didn't want him to know about that, he'd feel so horrible.

"I don't know," Draco answered sincerely, his hand pausing in its motion. Hermione wanted to cry out at the lack of friction, her head feeling too light and too cold. "I genuinely don't know what I'd do without you, Hermione."

After a moment of silence, Hermione replied honestly "You don't have to know. I'm not going anywhere, don't worry."

_A/N: Ok, so yes these chapters were late - but there are two of them, so hopefully that makes up for it. :) My goal is to get the next chapter out by Tuesday, October 23rd. Providing that my health stays normal, it should be on-time this time! Credit to Muse Amusant for the name Fabian Fairfax - what a great name, hey? Thanks everybody, please R&R!_


	12. Scars

The heat was positively blistering in the library despite the fact that it was close to the end of October. Hermione pushed an out-of-control curl out of her eyes as she once again looked longingly out the window at the cool Black Lake, its waters creating an almost perfect reflection of the autumn sky. "Whoever came up with the idea of building a dreary library with a perfect view of an escape was a complete idiot," she grumbled, furiously scribbling notes on a piece of parchment.

Beside her, Draco nodded absentmindedly. "I never thought you'd be one to call a library 'dreary'," he said, smiling as he pretended to accidentally brush the top of his feather quill against her cheek.

Playfully swatting at Draco's quill, Hermione grinned as she absentmindedly ran a hand over the opposite side of her face. After Draco's explosion in the potions room a couple weeks ago, they had tidied up the room in a sort of hurried silence. As soon as everything had been righted, Hermione had dashed off to her dorm and had removed the glass shards from her cheek. Unfortunately, the jar had obviously been used to house Venomous Tentacula; the glass left deep angry cuts all over her face that Hermione was certain would scar. No charm had yet been invented that could un-scar skin that had been in contact with Venomous Tentacula, although Hermione had found a spell that would minimize the size of the marks and lighten the colour of the damaged skin. So far her recovery had been going well, some of the smaller cuts already fading into thin white lines.

In order to spare Draco the guilt he would undeniably feel at seeing her somewhat destroyed left cheek, Hermione had cast a glamour over the left side of her face. Shaking her head, Hermione made a mental note that she really needed to stop touching her cheek if she wanted to be subtle about her disguise.

Hermione groaned loudly as Madame Pince walked by waving her wand. "How many bloody heating charms can that witch put on this library?" Hermione hissed, sending a minor cooling charm after the ancient librarian.

Draco shrugged. "Obviously she finds the October weather too cold."

"Yes," Hermione said exasperatedly, "we all do. But a warming charm is one thing – seven warming charms on top of one another in a confined space is an entirely different ballgame." When Draco didn't react, Hermione sighed, annoyed. "And you, wearing that bloody woolen sweater! I don't even know how you manage that without internally combusting."

The Slytherin snorted as he flipped through the rather large, rather dusty tome that he was perusing. He and Hermione were spending their free Saturday afternoon _not _out with their friends in Hogsmeade, _not _out in Diagon Alley, _not _out in muggle London, and _not _outside on the campus during what was sure to be one of the last nice days of the year. Instead, they were stuck inside the library researching stupid potions to make with their third year class of Slytherins and Ravenclaws.

Hermione was searching desperately through her book for a potion that would cause the drinker to laugh uncontrollably (much like the _rictus sempra _spell, but in liquid form) so that she could make a connection with the third year Charms class. Lavender had begged Hermione to try and find just such a potion so that she could make the class connection, as Hermione and Draco's class had become the favourite of many students almost overnight. "Maybe it'd, you know, peak their interest more?" Lavender had suggested, not quite meeting Hermione's eyes.

Turning her page with a bit too much force, Hermione mentally pushed Lavender down a particularly steep set of stairs. _Lazy, good for nothing flirt, not doing any work…._

"Hey, did you hear about Seamus?"

Draco's deep voice was a willing distraction from the letters that were blurring in front of Hermione's vision. "No," she answered, "I didn't. Did he show up for his TA class?"

"Apparently he not only showed up, but he blew everyone out of the water." Draco looked up from his book and grinned lopsidedly at Hermione. "McGonagall was talking to Slughorn about it last night, and I caught the end of the conversation; according to the grape vine, Seamus burst in with a muggle moving box full of stuff and taught an absolutely brilliant lesson about the First Wizard-Goblin War. He taught those students more in one class than they'd learned in six years with Binns."

Hermione smiled. "So, McGonagall knew what she was doing when she put Dean as Binn's TA?"

"Definitely," Draco nodded. "He just needed to get over his stupid pride."

When the Slytherin looked down at his book again, Hermione sighed. Back to endless searching. Suddenly, the word "optimism" caught her eye and Hermione stopped flipping pages. Quickly scanning the paragraph, she broke into a wide grin. "Draco!" she said, her voice unnaturally high and squeaky. "I think I found it!"

Draco, equally excited and relieved, leaned over to see Hermione's page. "Optimism Draught? The title sounds perfect, at least…."

Hermione's finger was trailing slowly down the page, her eyes flickering back and forth to read the instructions. "It doesn't look all that difficult," she said.

"But wait," Draco interjected, reaching in front of Hermione and pointing at the ingredients list. "Do we have enough fruit bat wings for bulk distribution?"

Just as Hermione was about to respond, she noticed that Draco's sweater had caught on the edge of the book and had pulled up to just above his wrist, revealing pale skin. What drew her attention, however, was not the pale colour, nor the sudden appearance of this skin; rather, it was the angry red line across Draco's wrist.

Like a movie on rewind, Hermione's mind sent her spinning into the past. The strangely stained schedule. Draco's concerns about privacy. His strange fidget. His conversation with McGonagall. The long-sleeved shirts. A dozen different puzzle pieces clicked into place before Hermione's eyes, and her heart froze as she stared at that one line that changed everything. It was so similar to the lines that Harry had covered his body with in sixth year, but this scar seemed to represent so much more; Draco, the ever-stable, ever stoic, was in so much pain that he had broken his own skin to relieve the pressure.

Silently, she raised Draco's arm so that it extended straight out from his body towards her. Hermione lightly placed three fingers on top of the scar on Draco's wrist, gently tracing the jagged line. The Slytherin tensed beneath her touch, but didn't pull back. Hermione looked up and met Draco's panicked grey eyes, and noticed that his chest was barely moving; he was holding his breath.

Not breaking eye contact with Draco, Hermione pushed the thick woolen sweater up to just above Draco's elbow. Giving him a reassuring slow blink, she looked down at the now exposed forearm and worked very hard to remain silent. Scars crisscrossed the entire area, some of them fresh and still bleeding, others very old and severe. One scar ran all the way from Draco's wrist to the crook of his elbow; obviously a suicide attempt. Hermione's heart fell through her ribcage and onto the floor, her eyes staying remarkably dry. The only thought circling through her mind was, _Oh Merlin Draco, what are you doing…._

Reaching hesitantly for Draco's other arm, Hermione looked up at the blonde again. Draco was looking back at her, his head tilted, tears gathering in his usually guarded eyes. Wordlessly, he extended his other arm and let Hermione roll up the sweater sleeve. Draco's right arm was just as bad as, if not worse than, his left arm, and Hermione felt a strangled sound attempt to leave her throat. She pushed it back down.

Slowly and gently, Hermione traced the matching pair of thick, old scars all the way from Draco's wrists to his elbows, feeling the irregularities, dips, and raises in the white skin. She heard a ragged sob come from Draco, and her eyes jerked up to meet Draco's once more. The blonde was trembling, and he was biting his lip in an attempt to hold back tears that were going to fall anyways. Something inside of Hermione broke when she saw this strong, stubborn young man on the verge of tears, and she felt his pain echoing in her own chest.

Knowing that words would shatter the spun-glass bubble that had formed around herself and Draco, Hermione brought her finger up to her lips lightly and kissed the tip. Draco watched her, his eyes showing confusion amidst the pain. Giving him a sad smile, Hermione placed her finger over a small, fresh scar mid-way up Draco's left arm. As she traced the barely-scabbed-over cut, the skin knit together and glowed silver before returning to its pristine pre-scar condition. Draco's eyes widened, and a single tear fell from his left eye.

Preparing to brush away the traitorous sign of his emotions, Draco tensed the muscles in his arms. Hermione, however, applied a light pressure to Draco's forearms as if to say, "no". She watched as the tear cut a track down Draco's face, falling down his cheek and travelling onto his neck and into his sweater collar. Still not wishing to speak, Hermione used her healing spell on several other fresh scars, making Draco's skin appear brand new in select areas. She treated each scar with the same reverence, the same delicacy as the first one, and by the time she had healed all the recent cuts there were silent tears streaking down Draco's face.

Judging by the size and length of the scars, Hermione guessed that Draco was using razor blades. The two suicide scars, however, were much thicker than the others; _A knife, maybe? Or a scissor blade? _Hermione's thoughts were swirling around her mind, trying to piece together when and how Draco could've tried to end his life_. Before the battle? After? During?_

Having learned a strong spell for scar-removal while on the run with Harry and Ron in seventh year, she knew that she could heal the rest of Draco's scars. But something inside her told her that these old scars were more emotional, more _personal _than any of the fresh marks on Draco's body. Taking a deep breath, Hermione lifted Draco's arm up so that it was almost parallel with her shoulder. The blonde watched her actions, resigned; his curiosity had faded, and he was obviously waiting for the inevitable moment where Hermione would stand up and leave the table in disgust.

Hermione, however, refused to fulfill Draco's expectations. Looking purposefully at Draco for several heartbeats, she spoke volumes with her eyes.

"It's ok."

"I'm with you."

"You can cry in front of me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"We can get through this together."

Willing her words to travel from her mind to Draco's, Hermione held his gaze for a moment more before turning to face his still-scarred arms. Lifting his right arm even further, Hermione leaned her head over so that she was only millimeters away from Draco's abused skin. Closing her eyes, Hermione pressed her lips lightly to the beginning of the first elbow-to-wrist scar. Slowly tracing the path of the scar with her lips, eyes still shut, Hermione placed light feathery kisses all the way up Draco's forearm, not missing a micrometer of the damaged skin. When she pulled away from his arm, the mark was glowing silver as it faded into his arm.

Not looking up at Draco, Hermione did the same to the matching long scar on his left arm, her lips causing the mark to vanish. When she finally did raise her head, Draco's arms were almost perfectly smooth, only two light white lines showing where the monstrous suicide scars had been.

Draco was staring at her in disbelief, tears still silently dropping from his eyes and getting lost amidst the fibers of his sweater collar. Swallowing thickly, Draco appeared to be searching for words. Hermione sat silently, holding Draco's hands, her soul open for him to see. "Why?" he finally croaked, the word floating in the air between them. "Why are you still here?"

Answering his question with a question, Hermione asked him, "Why would I leave?"

Choking back a loud sob, Draco shook his head. "No one stays," he said, his voice low. "They all leave when they figure out what….what I do to myself. How weak I am." Draco looked down at the ground, pulling his hands away from Hermione.

Refusing to let him go, Hermione grabbed one of Draco's wrists and used her free hand to tilt his chin gently back up so that his eyes met hers. "You are not weak," she said firmly. "Draco Malfoy, you are the strongest person I know. Right here, right now, I promise you that I will never _ever _leave you. Never."

Draco's eyes searched hers for any sign of deception, and grew wide when they found none. "Why?" he asked again, almost a whisper. "Why would _you _stay with _me_?"

Hermione was silent for a moment, not breaking her eye contact. "Because…because I really care about you, Draco," she finally said, a bit hesitant. "Because I hate to think that you're hurting, and because I want you to be happy. Because you can't find your path by yourself, and I want to help."

Silence stretched between the two of them, neither one breaking their eye contact and neither one moving. After what felt like at least seven eternities, Draco blinked. "You mean it?" he whispered.

"With all of my heart."

A strange feeling spread through Hermione's chest, and suddenly she knew how to convince the skeptical young man in front of her. Letting go of Draco's arm, she reached for her own sweater sleeve and rolled it up to her elbow. With a wave, Hermione cancelled her glamour; there, on her left forearm where the Dark Mark would be, was the word 'mudblood' carved into her skin. She had tried to remove it with spells, but the best she could do was minimize the scarring so that the letters were thin, almost-flat white lines. Every time she looked at her arm, Hermione would be transported back to the mansion, and the dark, and the blood….but this time, she stayed with Draco.

Looking up, Hermione saw Draco's eyes trace over the letters. He had seen Bellatrix carve them into her skin, and had seen the black knife pressed against Hermione's throat. He had stopped his aunt, pausing her for the few seconds it took for Dobby to bring Harry and Ron back upstairs. He had saved her life, and this was the concrete proof. With clear eyes, Draco looked up at Hermione and she looked back, determined.

Suddenly the space between Draco and Hermione was too vast, and the two of them drew closer together on the library bench. The attraction was almost magnetic, with Hermione fitting herself perfectly against Draco's chest and Draco's arms finding exactly the right spots around Hermione's waist. One of his hands lightly traced the scars on her forearm, while one of Hermione's hands lingered on his scars. Draco's nose was pressed lightly against Hermione's forehead, and Hermione's chin rested lightly on his shoulder. "I'll never leave you," she whispered, her breath causing the hair on Draco's neck to rise. "I promise."

Draco looked down at Hermione just as Hermione moved to look up at Draco, and in that second everything crashed together in a furious explosion of emotion. Draco leaned down, Hermione stretched up, and their lips met in a searing yet tender kiss with which they promised to give each other the world. His hand tangled in her hair, and her hands wrapped around his neck, they felt united, happy, needed, and – finally – complete.

_A/N: Ok, here it is! ON TIME, HURRAAAAHHHH! Thanks everyone for sticking with me, I hope that you like this next installment. The next chapter should be heading your way by Saturday (October 27th) at the latest. Please R&R, you'll make my day. :) ~sneakyslytherin_


	13. No Such Thing as Normal

It was the Saturday after Draco and Hermione's afternoon in the library, and the world had become a brighter and better place; the fall air seemed crisper, the colours more defined, the classes shorter and the evenings longer. Draco and Hermione spent nearly all their time in one another's company, not necessarily seeking time alone together but always welcoming the chances they had. At any point when the two could share a private moment, Hermione would brush her fingertips across the back of Draco's hand, or Draco would place his lips lightly on the shell of Hermione's ear. Whenever they came into contact, both would thrill at the new electricity between them that could barely be suppressed in public. It was like a current running just beneath their skin, replacing their blood, filling their veins with sparks and light.

In short, they were blissfully wrapped up in one another. Every evening they'd sit together on the couch in the common room and do homework until everyone else had gone to sleep. Then, when they were finally alone, they'd lean on each other and talk until they both fell asleep. The second night this happened, Hermione commented that she wasn't having nightmares anymore, and Draco said the same thing.

Harry was the first to notice their growing closeness, but that was because he was trying so incredibly hard to be Draco's friend. After spending enough time with Draco and Hermione, he started noticing the secret touches, the long looks, and the vast amounts of homework that they apparently needed to complete with one another. Just after Transfiguration on Wednesday, Harry tapped Draco on the shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a second?" Hermione stopped and stood by Draco. Coughing awkwardly, Harry looked down at his shoes. "Alone?"

Raising a blonde eyebrow, Draco quirked his head. "It's ok Hermione," he said slowly, "I'll meet up with you outside for break."

Hermione nodded reluctantly, sensing that Draco wanted to talk to Harry too. "I'll be out by the lake," she said, brushing her hand over his shoulder before walking off down the hallway.

Draco watched her until she disappeared around the corner, a strange far-away look on his face. When he turned to face Harry again, the black-haired boy was grinning impishly. "Congratulations on your relationship," he drawled. "I hope you two are very happy together."

Blushing furiously, Draco dragged Harry out of the hallway and into an empty classroom. "Keep your voice down!" he hissed. "I've been trying to keep a low profile, I don't need you blowing it."

Then it was Harry's turn to arch his eyebrows. "A low profile?" he asked, his voice heavy with skepticism. "Well, you'd be keeping a low profile if you were surrounded by _blind people_, but last time I checked Hogwarts was full of people who still had full control over their sight."

Draco grimaced. "Is it that obvious?" he asked, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Yes." Harry rolled his eyes. "Everyone in eighth year knows that something's up, it's just that no one wants to do anything about it."

"Shit," Draco said loudly, running a hand through his hair and starting to pace. "I didn't want to do this to her! The press will have a field day if anyone finds out, and it'll destroy her reputation, and -"

"Wait, wait, _wait_," Harry interrupted, looking cross. "You think 'Mione gives a damn about her _reputation?_ I thought that you two were together, but obviously you don't know the first thing about her, let alone care for her. Sorry, my mistake."

As Harry turned to leave the classroom, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I care about her more than anything in the world," Draco said lowly, resisting the urge to whip Harry around and slam him into the wall. "She is _everything _to me, so I'd appreciate it if you took your last comment back."

Turning around, Harry kept his face completely neutral. "Alright Draco, I'll take the last bit of that remark back, but I honestly wonder how you can say that you know her. She doesn't care about how the world sees her, anyone who's met her understands that."

"I know that _she _doesn't care, but _I _do!" Draco insisted, letting Harry's shoulder go. Confused, Harry moved his hand in a circling motion, urging Draco to go on. The blonde sighed and resumed his pacing. "It's complicated….see, the media had a bloody field day with me after the war, and I thought that I could handle it. But there were just so many lies, and everyone I saw was judging me, and….I just couldn't stand to see her go through that."

Harry was silent for a moment, drinking in Draco's words. Finally he said, "She could handle it though, you know. She's strong like that."

"She's strong because she has to be strong," Draco said softly. "If someone gave her the opportunity to relax, to calm down, she'd be happy with that too – it's just that right now the world needs her to be tough, solid. She _could _deal with it, but it wouldn't be easy."

Harry nodded slowly, a smile creeping up his face. "Maybe you do know her," he admitted, hands on his hips. "Treat her well, ok? If you screw with her, I _am _the Boy Who Lived – don't think that I won't come bust your ass."

Draco nodded, putting Harry's jest aside. "I swear I will, P – Harry. I don't need your threats as an incentive to treat her with the utmost respect and dignity."

Harry grinned. "I'm impressed, Mal – Draco. She's done quite the number on you."

Draco's eyes went wide. "Ex – excuse me?" he sputtered, outraged.

"Well, I assumed that she'd change you a _little bit_, but now you're a full-on teddy bear!" Harry drawled, pushing the classroom door open and walking out into the hallway. A furious Draco followed him, still at a loss for words. Laughing, Harry wondered aloud "I wonder if this happened to Viktor Krum when he dated her, or if it's just you…."

Draco was about to deliver a particularly cutting remark when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He instantly recognized the hand's shape and weight, so he didn't even need to turn around to know it was Hermione. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, Draco closed his eyes; _parchment, vanilla, cinnamon….. _Immediately he felt his blood pressure drop and his temper cool down. _How is it that she has this effect on me?_

"Hey, did you want to take a quick walk around the grounds before lunch is over?" she asked when Draco turned to face her. Suddenly seeing Harry, the witch blushed, wishing her hair was still bushy so that she could hide behind it. "I mean, uh, that is if you two were, um, done…."

"We were done," Harry said casually. "It was a useful discussion. Thanks Dray – I'll talk to you later."

And with that, Harry waved his wand and transfigured his uniform into jogging clothes. Without pausing so much as to laugh at Draco's incredulous expression, the young man dashed off towards the Black Lake. Not capable of really speaking properly, Draco just turned to Hermione and said "Don't you dare ever call me Dray."

Unable to contain herself, Hermione doubled over and burst into a fit of giggles. Loving the way that her cheeks tinged pink and her grin revealed new dimples, Draco smiled as well, the insult forgotten. When Hermione finally caught her breath she managed to gasp out, "I wouldn't dream of it," before grabbing Draco's hand and heading off towards the quidditch pitch.

"I thought we were going to the lake?" Draco wondered aloud, hitching his bag onto his shoulder with his free hand.

"We could," Hermione conceded, "but Harry went that way, and I wanted to talk."

_Uh oh_, Draco thought, his mind freezing. _That's not good._ "Talk about what?" he asked cautiously, not letting go of Hermione's hand.

"I don't know," she said lightly, brushing an errant curl out of her face. "Anything."

Relaxing instantly, Draco's smile returned to his face. "Why don't you start then?" Draco suggested, releasing her hand and throwing his arm around her shoulders now that they were out of sight of the hallway.

Sighing, Hermione gave Draco a disappointed look. "Ok," she huffed, tightening her Harrod's scarf. (Trying to eliminate house-discrimination, all the eighth years had been wearing non-Hogwarts scarves in the cold weather; Draco's was a red-and-white striped one, a knock-off of the famous scarf on the Beatles album cover.) "I guess I'll start with a totally random statement about myself, then. Umm…I'm afraid of rats. Ta da, I know, so profound."

Draco ruffled the top of Hermione's head. "Why on earth are you afraid of rats, crazy?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair, loving it when she leaned into his touch.

"I don't know," she said, sounding a bit far away. "Maybe it was Pettigrew in third year, or maybe I was just always grossed out by rats. I think it all kind-of blurred together."

There was a break where everything was silent as Hermione and Draco continued walking, Draco still holding her close to his side. "Well, that's justified," he finally said. "I'm scared of snakes, I bet you can guess why."

Hermione laugh-snorted. "I'm surprised that all of England isn't terrified of snakes."

"Is Harry still a Parselmouth?" Draco randomly wondered out loud.

Shaking her head, Hermione said "Nope. He lost it when snake-face died. He doesn't mind, honestly – he says it's a bit of a relief really, the snake thing always freaked him out." Silence. "Was your father a Parselmouth? I read a while ago that the Malfoys used to be able to talk to snakes."

Draco worked very hard to keep his body relaxed. It was easi_er_ to talk about his father to Hermione, but it still wasn't easy. He doubted it would ever be. "No," he said shortly. "He wasn't."

"What do you think of all this stuff happening with your dad now? I mean, if you don't want to answer, or anything, that's ok…"

Suddenly Hermione's desire for a private walk made so much more sense. "You sneaky little devil," Draco teased, flicking her head gently. "You should've been in Slytherin, you know. Was there another article in the paper about him this morning, or something?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes," she admitted reluctantly. "I was just wondering, you know, since he is your dad, and what not…."

Draco was silent for a while, thinking about how to answer Hermione's question. "I don't really think about it too much," he finally said. "I mean, yeah he's my dad, but he was never really a father figure. Severus was the one who was always there for me, and my mum died in the summer, so in a way I've already mourned the passing of my real family."

Looking off into the distance, Hermione nodded. "But you got so irritated when that little Fairfax git showed you the article, and I was just thinking…."

"It's not so much that he was my dad," Draco interjected, not letting Hermione continue. "It was just what he did, and how he did it, and the fact that Voldemort's influence still lives on….it's hard to explain."

Hermione was silent, her brow furrowed. "But, he's your dad!" she finally spluttered, obviously confused. "Like, if my dad did _half _of the things Lucius did, I'd…I don't know…hate his guts, that's for sure."

Trying to think of how to explain his feelings for Lucius, Draco closed his eyes. "My dad was rarely home, and whenever he was he wasn't a very engaged father." Sighing, he continued. "So, whenever he'd come home and place unrealistic expectations on me, I'd run away to my Uncle Sev's house and get lost in the world of muggle books and learning. I spent most of my life away from Hogwarts in that little house in Spinner's End – I basically owe Snape my sanity. In blood, Lucius was my father; in spirit and mind, Severus Snape was my father. I used to hate Lucius, but eventually Severus helped me deal with it. Thanks to that, I'm relatively detached from anything that Lucius Malfoy does now."

Draco looked down at Hermione who was fiddling with the tassels on her scarf. Obviously he still hadn't managed to reach her. "I don't love Lucius Malfoy anymore," Draco continued, "nor do I idolize him like I did when I was younger….but because he _is _technically my father, I just can't bring myself to hate him. I've tried, trust me, but I can't do it…I just….can't. I know that apathy is horrible, but it's just…it worked out that way."

Hermione was looking up at Draco with a strange expression, her nose red from the cold. "That makes sense," she finally said. "I get that."

Nuzzling into Draco's chest, Hermione threaded her fingers between his. Her happy sigh made Draco smile, and the blonde closed his eyes. _I'd be happy if this moment froze_, he thought suddenly. _If time would just stop now, I'd be good with that. Everything feels so right…._

"Hey! Draco, 'Mione!"

_…and the moment's broken._ Draco lifted up his head and opened his eyes to see a red-faced and satisfied looking Harry running up on their left. "Yes, Harry?" Hermione said, her tone indicating that she wasn't too happy to be interrupted.

The black-haired wizard grinned, purposefully ignoring Hermione's unimpressed look. "I saw that you were heading towards the quidditch pitch, and wondered if the old Slytherin seeker would be up for a pick-up game?" Harry elbowed Draco in the ribs lightly, still smiling. "C'mon, I doubt you've managed to keep your skills after all these years anyways. It'd just be you and me, a quick round of catch-the-snitch."

Not really needing her consent but still feeling that it was important, Draco looked down at Hermione. Arching his eyebrows as if asking a question, Draco smiled when Hermione winked. The witch turned to face Harry again, Draco admiring the way that her neck turned gracefully, still leaving her body in his arms. "What, you don't want _me _to play with you?" she asked Harry jokingly.

He seemed a bit taken aback. "Well, erm, you could, I guess….if you wanted…"

Laughing her light spun-sugar laugh, Hermione threw her head back so that her scarf revealed more of her skin and the filtered autumn sunlight hit her face perfectly. Draco caught himself staring, but couldn't quite manage to look away; it was too beautiful and too precious a moment to miss. "I was only kidding, crazy!" Hermione said to Harry, his relieved look re-inciting her laughter. "Would you mind if I watched though?"

Harry looked to Draco quickly before shaking his head. "No, I don't think we'd mind at all. That is, if you don't mind watching me smoke Malfoy into oblivion."

"You wish, Potter!" Draco said, his voice loaded with false competitiveness.

Harry fell in-step beside the couple, carrying on a jovial and light conversation during the next few hundred meters that it took to get to the quidditch pitch. "When did they add these trees?" Hermione wondered, tilting her head as she noticed new evergreens planted around the exterior of the stadium.

"When the rebuilt the field they planted the trees," Harry supplied. "Apparently they're special trees, or something….I don't think that they add too much to the décor, but I'm not the Headmaster."

Draco laughed quietly, his eye catching a glimpse of something reflecting light towards them. Pausing, Draco stopped and squinted at the foliage. Hermione stopped beside him as Harry slowed down just in front. "Did you see something?" Hermione asked, peering into the trees.

His eyes lingering for just a moment longer, Draco shook his head and looked away. "I must've just imagined it," he said, shrugging.

Hermione, however, kept her eyes on the bushes and what she saw made her breath freeze in her lungs; a glint of platinum blonde hair, the unique reflection of sunlight on cloak fabric, a glint of silver. Immediately putting her arm out in front of Draco, Hermione watched as a pair of icy blue eyes locked on Harry. "NO!" she shrieked, leaping and throwing herself in front of her best friend.

"Hermione!" Draco cried out, his hand catching the tassels of her scarf and pulling the useless fabric off from around her neck.

Before the blonde's eyes, Hermione was surrounded by a strange blue light. Her expression frozen into one of shock, her eyes met Draco's briefly and the two shared a stare filled with terror, surprise, and – from Hermione – determination. Then, just as suddenly as the light had appeared, it faded, taking Hermione with it and leaving an empty space in front of Harry where the Golden Girl had once been.

Stock still, Harry and Draco both stared at the void where their most precious friend had just vanished. "She…she jumped in front of me," Harry finally stuttered, his green eyes flicking back and forth, looking at nothing.

Harry's words snapped Draco out of his trance and the blonde rushed forward to the bushes, drawing his wand. "Who's there?!" he shouted, casting a _homunum revelio_, not entirely surprised when the spell came back entirely negative. Obviously the caster had apparated, somehow bypassing the apparition barrier.

Frantically crashing through the brush, Draco kept his wand out in front of him until he arrived at a patch of grass that had been flattened considerably. The branches around it had been snapped, and from this angle Draco had a perfect view of where Harry was casting preservation charms on the area where Hermione had disappeared. Looking around, Draco searched for any hint as to who Hermione's attacker could have been. _Harry's attacker_, his brain corrected instantly. _He was going after Harry, Hermione just stepped in his way. Stupid Gryffindor, how could she do that to herself?! To me?!_

With a start, Draco realized that he was clutching Hermione's battered Harrod's scarf in a death-grip. He immediately felt a sharp pain in his chest, and Draco smoothed out the scarf over his arm, checking to make sure he hadn't damaged it. On a whim, the blonde lifted it to his nose. _It smells like her_, he thought, his heart growing heavy. He closed his eyes, drinking in her smell, her essence, her vitality. _I promise, I will find you_, Draco vowed, squeezing his eyes to hold back the tears that he felt threatening to come.

Giving the scarf a final squeeze, Draco opened his eyes. Directly in front of his face, a single hair hung from a branch that was just at head level. Draco lifted the strand of hair off of the darkened branch with his wand, carefully holding it up to the light. His heart sank when he saw that it matched his hair colour exactly, only it was several inches longer and smelt strongly of spearmint hair gel.

_Luicus._

_ Dad._

_ ….oh Merlin, no. Please no. Not you. Anyone but you. _

_A/N: Here it is, darling readers. Thanks so much for your feedback on the last chapter, I love every single letter you type, particularly when those letters come together to form syllables, then words, then sentences. :) :) Hopefully the next chapter should be out by next Saturday (November 3rd), but this is kind-of a busy week so we'll see. Around then. :) Please R&R! ~sneakyslytherin_


	14. Pulled Apart

Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, as if she was surfacing from the bottom of a particularly deep, dark pool. Blinking slowly, she opened her eyes and was greeted by flat blackness. Months of living on the run had honed her instincts, and Hermione's brain immediately switched into "on alert" mode. Feeling the absence of her wand in the pocket of her robes, she sat up slowly, leaving her eyes open so that they could adjust to the dark. Hermione methodically began reciting the twelve uses for dragon's blood, feeling her heart rate slow and her breathing calm slightly._ You can't panic._

By the time she finished, her eyes had adjusted to the dark and her surroundings had come into focus; Hermione found herself in the center of a small, stone-walled room with no windows and a single wooden door. There was no furniture, and the room seemed to be filled with an inescapable blackness that hadn't been disturbed for centuries – that is, of course, until Hermione had been unwillingly brought into its midst. The smell of damp permeated the air, and she wrinkled her nose to try and block it out. Sliding over to the door slowly, Hermione listened as her school robes rustled against the stone floor. When she reached the door, she gingerly felt for a handle.

There was nothing.

Her pulse spiking for a moment, Hermione's hand continued to grasp for something that wasn't there. _There's no handle. How am I supposed to get out?!_

Running her fingertips over the splintered wood, Hermione felt cool metal that was nailed into the door. When she examined the area further with her fingertips, she felt a small gap; _A keyhole! _

Hermione felt a sense of profound relief run through her. She wasn't trapped in a stone box with no chance of escape. _No, _her brain supplied. _You're just stuck in a stone box __**with a keyhole **__and no chance of escape. Much better._

Feeling suddenly very cold, Hermione scooted herself back into the corner of the cell. She wrapped her arms around her legs and placed her head on her knees, focusing on breathing normally. Obviously the autumn chill had managed to seep into the room, and Hermione's thin school robes provided little to no warmth. _Where's my hat? My scarf? My jacket? Who cast the spell? Is Harry ok? Is Draco ok? Where am I?_

Millions of questions swirled around her mind, creating a reproduction of the small tornado that Draco had made in the potions room all those weeks ago. Shaking her head, Hermione closed her eyes. She knew that she needed to slow her brain down, so she resorted to the method that she'd used during her entire seventh year; she went to her happy place.

Normally, her imagination immediately sent her to the Hogwarts grounds and the view from her room in the Gryffindor tower. The Black Lake would be slightly less black that usual, spring sunshine covering the grounds in a lovely yellow light, the school's shadow creating strange shapes on the ground.

This time, however, she floated back to a dimly lit bar filled with the smell of sawdust and a certain Slytherin…..hands around her waist….a head on her shoulder…..lips by her neck….

Keeping her eyes closed, Hermione quietly began to sing the words to the song that she and Draco had danced to, the slow notes filling the cell and echoing against the stone walls. To Hermione there was something eerily final about the echo, but she pushed that idea out of her head, filling her senses with love, light, and happiness.

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

"We have to _find her_!" Draco shouted, slamming his hands onto the map-covered table.

"We're trying, Draco," Harry said firmly, "you know it's not that easy. Lucius could be anywhere."

"No, he couldn't," Draco ground out, crumpling a piece of parchment beneath his thin-boned hand. "There are only a few places he could possibly be, we just need to send out teams -"

"And reveal ourselves if we choose the wrong place," Neville supplied. "We can't just jump in there, Draco."

A hand rested on his shoulder, and the blonde couldn't help but notice instantly that the hand felt wrong; it wasn't Hermione's. It was too heavy, too broad-boned. "Calm down mate," a deep voice said. "If we let our emotions get the best of us it'll just end up hurting 'Mione."

Draco whirled around to face a stony-faced, exhausted-looking Ron Weasley. His trademark-red hair was unwashed and rumpled, as if he'd just jumped out of bed – which he most likely had –, but his eyes were sharp and keen, looking down at the Slytherin disapprovingly. "Thank you _Junior Auror Weasley,_" Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your _logical _and _unemotional _assessment is so welcomed. Thank you _ever so much _for taking time off to _grace us _with your presence."

"Draco," Harry snapped, "Ron has a point, stop jabbing at him. Calm down."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Draco shouted, "I will _not _calm down, you bloody morons! My sadistic bastard of a father has Hermione somewhere, doing Merlin knows what to her, and we're standing around in McGonagall's office drinking bloody tea and looking at maps of random old buildings!" Chest heaving, Draco looked at the other faces in the room with him. "What part of this is ok?" he asked, his voice still filled with passionate anger.

Luna stepped forward slightly, looking back at McGonagall for a split second. "She'll be ok Malfoy," the blonde girl said seriously. "She's Hermione. She can take care of herself while we decide how to best help her. It'll all work out in the end."

With Luna's profound and accurate statement, Draco felt his rage cooling, hardening, and turning into despair sinking into the pit of his stomach. Ever the Malfoy, always focused on keeping up appearances, he grabbed his trench coat from the overfilled coat stand by the door. "I need some air," he mumbled, pulling Hermione's scarf out of the jacket pocket and stalking out of the room.

Slamming the door behind himself to add some dramatic effect to his exit, Draco made it down the stairs before he couldn't contain himself any longer. He quickly ran to the closest door, threw it open, and brought it shut behind him with a quiet click. Leaning back against the door, Draco pulled Hermione's scarf out of his pocket, held it to his nose, and allowed hot tears to fall from the corner of his eyes. The smells of vanilla, cinnamon, and parchment floated down his throat, into his lungs, filling his every pore until he was full to bursting with the feeling of Hermione. Finally, when he was absolutely unable to breathe in any more, Draco exhaled in a long harsh breath and sank to the floor, his knees giving out beneath him and pushing him against the door.

When he opened his burning eyes, Draco saw that he had run into a storage closet. Dark and filled with odd wizarding and muggle cleaning items, Draco felt an eerie prickle run along his skin. _Is Hermione stuck somewhere like this? _he wondered, wrapping her scarf around his neck, staring into the darkness. _Hermione, where are you? _

Feeling the tears threaten to fall again, Draco took a deep breath. As loathe as he was to admit it, Ron and Luna had a point; _I can't help anyone by being emotional, _he thought, closing his eyes. _Who'd have thought – a Malfoy rendered incoherent and irrational over a witch. Oh, the power of love._

Draco was startled by his own use of the term 'love'. _Is that what this is? _he wondered, bringing the end of the scarf up to his nose again.

Placing a hand over his heart, Draco felt for the gaping hole that had to be carved out of his chest. Why else would he be feeling this horrible? However, as he predicted, he felt nothing. It was like when you lose a tooth; you know that it's gone, but your tongue continues to return and explore the new space in your mouth. Draco's fingers kept running over his left side, feeling for a hole that he knew wasn't there, hoping that it would spontaneously appear.

_Has Hermione ever felt this? _he wondered, secretly wishing that she felt it for him and had never felt it for Ron.

Even the thought of the ginger made Draco's blood boil; Ron was a perfectly nice person, entirely respectful, kind, and insistent on helping in any way he could with finding Hermione, even taking time off from school to help plan and execute the search. Despite the Weasley's outstanding resume and reputation, Draco just couldn't find it in himself to like him. _You gave Harry a second chance, why not Ron? _The Slytherin stopped himself before he continued his internal questioning, shaking his head. _Because he was Hermione's boyfriend, and you're a territorial, pig-headed, bloody male. Idiot. Worse – you're a __**jealous **__idiot._

Resigned to his stupid jealously, Draco rested his head on his knees and pulled Hermione's scarf over his head like a hood. _Where the hell are you, Hermione? _Draco screamed in his mind, the loud thought echoing through his empty soul.

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

Hermione had closed her eyes, flitting in and out of that light almost-sleep that everyone experiences when they're too upset to actually sleep. Fragments of disjointed dreams surfaced in her memory, flashing like camera bulbs behind her eyelids.

_"Sirius!"_

_ "Oh, stop? Alright, I'll make it stop…"_

_ "Save me, please -"_

_ "Go away, Hermione! I don't want your help, I don't want anyone's help!"_

_ "But, Harry -"_

_ "GO AWAY!"_

_ "Hermione, wake up….you're dreaming…it's Luna…."_

With a sudden pain to her ribcage, Hermione's eyes snapped open. She immediately curled into the fetal position, protecting her soft and now-sore stomach. A dark chuckle filled the cell, and Hermione's eyes came to rest on immaculately polished black leather boots, adorned with silver buckles engraved with hissing snakes.

_ No. No. NO._

Against her brain's will, Hermione flicked her gaze upwards to see the sneering face of Lucius Malfoy hovering above her. To an impartial observer, Hermione supposed that the former Lord Malfoy would look as pristine and haughty as he did during the inter-war peace, but she saw differently; his cape was of a good quality but was obviously not new, his robes were a simple black and were unadorned by any lavish embroidery, and his boots – though leather and intimidating – were worn-looking with thin soles. He had obviously fallen on hard times while living as a wanted fugitive. The one part of him that had definitely _not _changed, however, was his hair; just as flawless as ever, Lucius' platinum blonde locks hung to just below his shoulders, shining in the dim light provided by his wand. The smell of peppermint wafted through the cell, and Hermione guessed that it was either Malfoy's cologne or some sort of ridiculous hair product. _Most likely the latter_.

A chill settled at the bottom of Hermione's stomach as she returned her gaze to the boots, averting her gaze from Malfoy's chipped-ice-coloured eyes. _I refuse to be weak_, she thought firmly. _I will __**not **__look up to him._

Placing his boot just under Hermione's chin, Lucius forced her to look back up. A burn of rage and humiliation bubbled up in Hermione's throat, and she narrowed her eyes to glare at the arrogant bastard. Lucius, however, seemed unperturbed, bringing his face closer to hers with that malicious grin still plastered to his face. Finally, when he was so close Hermione thought she was going to faint from the overpowering smell of mint, Lucius opened his mouth to speak; "Ah, how the mighty have fallen," he said, giving her throat a light nudge with his boot before returning his leg to the floor. "The precious _Golden Girl _of the free wizarding world, helpless at my feet."

Forgetting herself, Hermione snorted. Lucius responded by giving her another sharp kick to the ribs. Doubling over in pain, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "Not quite so helpless Malfoy," she ground out, tucking her chin into her chest to protect her neck.

Lucius laughed coldly. "You delude yourself, Granger," he said, his voice emotionless. "You are completely at my mercy." With every statement, Lucius moved his face back down to Hermione's level. "No one knows where you are, so no one can come to save you. Escape is impossible. You. Are. Alone."

When he had finished, Lucius was mere centimeters away from Hermione's fiery eyes, his lips in-line with hers. Immediately jumping to the most unimaginably horrible scenario possible, Hermione focused in on Malfoy's lips and paled.

The Death Eater noticed her sudden unease and laughed, grabbing her chin and forcing her face up. "Don't worry, mudblood – you don't interest me. I'm not attracted to filth."

Violently shoving Hermione's face into the wall behind her, Lucius took a step back. Hermione felt her teeth clamp down on her tongue when she hit the wall, and could taste the bitter copper of her blood filling her mouth. "What's your game Malfoy?" she spat out, praying desperately that she'd manage to stain his boots with her 'dirty blood'. "What the hell are you playing at with this? The Ministry can and _will _find you."

Nonchalantly cleaning his fingernails, Malfoy nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, true. Eventually. After I send in my ransom demand."

Hermione gave a sharp bark of a laugh. "A _ransom demand_?" she asked incredulously. "Are you that broke?"

Glaring pointedly at the witch, Lucius gave Hermione an enthusiastic kick to the side. "Your life in exchange for my pardon. It seems simple enough, yes? I was originally planning to ransom the Boy Who Lived, but it seems that my plans were….changed at the last minute. You'll do, though."

Hermione sat up, not revealing the pain that she felt shooting up and down her right side. Maybe he'd managed to fracture a rib with that last one. "It'll never work," she said firmly, pushing herself entirely upright with her hands. "They know that I'd rather die than see scum like _you _walk the streets as free and equal citizens, Death Eater."

Suddenly, Lucius had Hermione's hands above her head, pinning her to the wall with his bodyweight. "Mind your tongue, bitch," he hissed, once again close to Hermione's face.

Bringing his knee sharply into Hermione's stomach, Lucius lit up when she could barely stay upright. At seeing Lucius' enthusiasm, a fresh determination filled Hermione. Resolutely, she pulled herself upright and glared at the disgraced noble. He scowled, and slapped her hard across the face, the sound echoing through the small room. Hermione suppressed her pain and turned her head once again to face Lucius. Grinning, her blood turning her teeth an eerie pink colour, Hermione spat at Lucius. "Rot in Hell, Malfoy," she said, her words slightly slurred.

Pushing Hermione to the ground, Lucius let go of her hands to wipe the blood and spit off of his face and out of his perfectly done hair. Hermione almost laughed at the concern Lucius took in cleaning his hair, but when he turned back to the witch his eyes were burning. Not saying anything, he pressed Hermione down onto the floor with his boot. Thrashing, Hermione tried to free herself from the increasing pressure just below her collarbones. Resistance, however, was futile; the wizard was too strong for her, and was too angry to let her go.

Looking down at Hermione with a disturbing smile, Lucius steadily applied pressure onto Hermione's chest. At first she didn't feel that much worse – it was just weight, after all, and Hermione wasn't all that fragile – but then her breathing became increasingly shallow, and dark spots started dancing across her vision. Refusing to break, Hermione just closed her eyes and lay there.

All at once, the pain crossed a barrier; Hermione heard the crack before she felt the pain, but she immediately knew that Lucius had broken her collarbone. Letting out a hoarse cry, Hermione's head lolled from the pain and unconsciousness threatened to overwhelm her. "Not so easy, witch," Lucius said, lifting her head up violently, forcing her to open her eyes. "You _will _get me my pardon, and you _will _obey me! Don't think that I won't kill you."

Unable to speak, Hermione simply closed her eyes. A voice echoed through her head, but what Hermione found odd was that it wasn't her usual inner-voice – it was male, deep, and for some odd reason it was entirely reassuring. _Don't give in, Hermione. You're stronger than that, fight him! C'mon, fight back!_

The puzzle pieces in her mind finally clicked, and Hermione started; _the voice belongs to Draco._

Pushing through the pain, wading through what felt like oceans of fire and bypassing peaks of exhaustion, Hermione opened her eyes once again. "Then kill me," she mumbled, and she stared him down. "I will _never _obey you."

Furious, Lucius dropped Hermione onto the ground of the cell, kicking her in the side of the head for good measure. Spots returned to Hermione's vision, and she knew that this time she couldn't fight off the darkness.

Watching black boots fade into the black cell and melt into her black consciousness, the last thing Hermione heard was Lucius say, "You have no idea how much you're worth, do you?"

_A/N: Here's the next installment! Hopefully I'll get you guys the next chapter by next Monday (November 12th), but no guarantees - this is a crazy busy week for me, but I really want to finish the next part. Please R&R, my darlings! ~sneakyslytherin _


	15. Inch by Inch

Hogwarts castle was used to silence. Usually during the night everything would go still, quiet filling the empty space only to be disturbed by pacing teachers or disobedient students. During the summer the castle was mostly empty, and during the holidays very few students remained on the campus. After the Final Battle there had been long, extended days of silent mourning, only punctuated by tears and mournful music. Hogwarts was no stranger to silence, but the quiet that filled its cavernous halls that evening was tense, emotional, and altogether foreign to the castle. One of its students was in danger, and it couldn't help her.

Draco had just left the eighth-year dormitory and was walking at a brisk pace down the changing stairways, his boot heels making loud clicking noises on the stone floors. As he walked, he finished doing up the laces on his leather greaves, securing them into place on his forearms. With the arm-protection fastened, Draco was dressed for battle; wearing simple black dueling pants and a loose white shirt as a base layer, he had chosen to don his black dragon hide vest and matching greaves as well as his black dragon hide boots. Inside of these deceptively harmless shoes Draco had three different daggers concealed, each one dipped in a different poison. Beneath his right greave the blonde had hidden a second wand should the wand he now held in his arm-holster be stolen from him or broken. His hair wasn't slicked back or hanging loose; rather, he'd used a lengthening charm to manage conveniently tying his hair into a ponytail, keeping it in place with a strip of charmed extendable leather. He'd once seen his Aunt Bellatrix turn her leather hair tie into a noose, using it to strangle a muggle-born wizard. _If she can use it for evil purposes, can't I use it for good?_

Most importantly, however, Draco had wrapped Hermione's scarf around his neck. Not caring that it could be used against him in hand-to-hand combat or that spells could catch on the loose ends, the blonde was determined to take it with him into battle. _She might need it, _he thought, attempting to justify his sentimentality with logic.

As Draco walked down the final set of stairs, he was joined by Harry and the Weasley walking from the direction of the quidditch pitch. Ron was wearing more traditional dueling robes that concealed most of his battle-gear, however Harry was dressed similarly to Draco. Greeting the two approaching boys with a curt, silent nod, Draco fell in step beside them and turned towards the doors of the school. Ron looked at the scarf around Draco's neck and gave the blonde a long, puzzled look.

"So, we're going to the house in Devon?" Harry asked quietly, his voice low.

Draco knew that Harry knew perfectly well that they'd chosen to go to the mansion in Devon, as the building was the oldest, most pretentious Malfoy residence other than Malfoy Manor itself. _It also has dungeons that would likely suit Lucius' purposes_. Draco shuddered, pushing that thought from his mind. The black-haired boy was obviously just trying to ease the seemingly-unbreakable tension that had settled over the entire castle.

"Neville has the portkey?" Ron asked, his eyes flicking from Draco's face back down to the scarf.

"He should," Draco responded shortly.

Ron nodded. "Good."

The three proceeded in silence through the school doors and out onto the grounds, passing the intimidating wrought-iron gates that protected Hogwarts from unwanted visitors. The late-evening sun was just disappearing into the Black Lake, and Draco watched it with a sinking feeling. _Can Hermione see the sunset? Is she still alright? Have we wasted too much time?_

When they arrived, Neville and Luna were already waiting for them. After much persuasion from Harry, McGonagall and Flitwick had agreed that it would be best to let the students attempt the rescue mission alone – that is, as long as Harry carried a pendant that would send an instant distress call to the teachers should the young adults run into trouble.

Draco watched Harry fiddle with the strange pendant around his neck, his attention focused on something that Draco couldn't see. They were both jolted out of their reveries when Neville cleared his throat. "Are we all ready?" he asked, holding out a hole-riddled woolen sock.

"We should be," Luna said, tightening her ponytail and straightening out her dueling robes.

"Alright then," Harry started, "on the count of three -"

"NO!" a voice cried out, and the four students whipped around immediately, wands drawn.

Draco noticed Harry's shoulders slump as he recognized the speeding mass of red hair coming down the hill towards them. "Ginny," Draco heard Ron mutter. "Bloody hell…"

"Take me with you!" the young girl cried out, frantically pulling her hair back and fastening the sides of her vest.

"Ginny," Harry said slowly, placing his hands on his girlfriend's shoulders to stop her movement, "you're staying here."

"I am not!" Ginny said firmly, pushing Harry back. "Hermione is my friend too, you can't expect me to stay back here and _wait_, not knowing about her, or you…"

She trailed off, trying to conceal the sudden tears that had sprung into her eyes. Unable to hide her emotions from her boyfriend, however, Harry placed a hand on her cheek. She let his hand rest there, her head leaning slightly into the warm presence. "Gin," he said softly, his thumb running from her ear down to her chin. "Please stay here and stay safe, for me. I couldn't fight properly, worrying about you."

"But now_ I_ have to worry," Ginny said miserably, placing her hand over Harry's. "I'm always the one left behind to worry while the people I love risk their lives."

"Hush," Harry whispered, resting his nose on her forehead. "Don't worry for me. We'll be fine, I promise."

Looking down at his girlfriend, Harry tilted her chin up so that she met his eyes. Without saying another word, the two joined for a passionate kiss, Ginny throwing her arms around Harry's shoulders.

A sudden pain sparked through Draco's chest and he looked away quickly. _It's a private moment, not fit for me to see_, he said to himself, placing a hand over his hole-shaped-heart. His brain immediately sent him images of Hermione, and how she looked as he leant over to kiss her, and how her eyes filled up with trust and that other emotion he couldn't quite name, and how her lips – _stop it! _he snapped at himself. _Get a grip, Malfoy._

He was brought back into reality when Luna tapped his shoulder. "She'll be fine Draco," the blonde said, her blue eyes looking openly up at the Slytherin. "You'll be with her again soon."

Nodding and taking a deep breath, Draco smiled slightly before turning back to look at the still-embracing couple. "Be careful," Ginny sniffed, giving Harry one last kiss on the cheek. Faking bravery, she smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "If you don't come back, I'll be forced to launch a rescue mission for _you_."

Harry laughed lightly, trying to make the girl feel better. "We can't have that now, can we?" he said forcedly, giving her forehead a final kiss before pulling away.

This time it was Ron who cleared his throat. "Well, um, now that _that's _over and done with, are we ready?" he asked, gesturing to Neville who was still holding the portkey.

When all four students nodded, Neville closed his eyes. Draco lifted Hermione's scarf, covering his mouth and nose with the soft, still-scented fabric

"One…."

_We're coming Hermione._

"Two…."

_Hold on a bit longer._

"Three!"

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

When Hermione awoke, her world was a blur of pain. Her head was pounding, and every breath she took sent sharp stabs of agony through her chest. Coppery blood still filled her mouth, and her tongue revealed that there were several broken edges to her teeth that hadn't been there before. Lifting her hand hesitantly, she hissed as the small movement caused her shattered collarbone to shift slightly. She pushed through the hurt, however, and reached up to touch her head; _Broken ribs I can handle, but a concussion…._

Her fingertips ran lightly over the top of her head, feeling her normally uncooperative hair part easily under her hands. On the left side of her forehead - right where Lucius Malfoy had kicked her – Hermione's fingers came away sticky with blood and she winced. After a few more seconds of painful exploration the witch determined that the wound was primarily superficial, but that the headache she had now wasn't likely to go away anytime soon. _Brilliant. This is all just so damn brilliant._

Frustrated, Hermione let out a groan and slowly attempted to roll onto her back. Every millimeter of movement was a triumph, and by the time she lay flat on her back she was seeing spots. _I probably punctured a lung, _she thought dizzily, closing her eyes. _No, __**I **__didn't puncture a lung, effing Lucius Malfoy punctured my lung for me. What a bloody gentleman._

A flood of angry determination filled her, and Hermione moved both of her ankles in slow circles. Her left angle twinged slightly when she moved it, but overall Hermione didn't feel too much pain. _It seems like my legs are still alright, _she thought optimistically. _I can still run! That is, I could if I could get out of this godforsaken prison..._

_Hell, would it kill Malfoy to put a heating charm on this room? It's bloody freezing!_

Slowly moving her hands from her sides towards her pockets, Hermione felt the pain in her collarbone dull into an ever-present ache. With her hands successfully inside her pockets, Hermione began rubbing her fingers together slowly in an attempt to warm them up. Suddenly, her right hand brushed against something cold and metal. Immediately reacting by jerking away, Hermione let out a strangled hiss as her vision once again went blurry.

This time moving much more cautiously, Hermione pushed her hand once again into her pocket and found the metal. Bringing the unknown object out of her pocket and in front of her eyes, she tried to identify what it was. _Damn, it's so dark!_

Running her fingertips over it, Hermione gasped when her pointer finger ran over what felt like a raised circle. _My dorm key! _she thought excitedly, her heart soaring. _Could it...? No, no it couldn't….but I should try, right?_

Despite the fact that she felt like a prize idiot, Hermione slowly dragged herself across the room towards the door. She was breathing raggedly, her vision clouded with a red mist, but she pushed through it; _I've faced worse, right? _she thought to herself. _I mean, the Final Battle – _

-she moved herself an inch-

_-being petrified-_

-another inch-

-_being attacked by a werewolf-_

-inch-

_-camping in the woods for bloody months with no hot water showers-_

-inch-

And so the process continued until Hermione was over by the door. Her collarbone shrieking with pain as she pushed herself into a sitting position, Hermione had to stop for several long moments to catch her breath. Reaching up hesitantly with her right hand, she tentatively located the keyhole once again. The dorm key still clutched in her death grip, Hermione pushed her other hand up to the door. Fumbling slightly, she shoved the small key into the large, clearly charmed lock.

Nothing happened.

Not knowing why this failure bothered her so much, Hermione blinked back tears as she sagged against the door. "What do I do now?" she said aloud, her voice hoarse and rough.

As if in answer to her question, a high pitched note filled the cell. Turning her head slowly to look at the keyhole, Hermione could barely believe her eyes; the blue gem on her dorm key was _glowing_! _What the hell did you do to my key, Draco? _she thought gratefully, her lips curving up in a bloody smile.

The glow from the sapphire spread over the rest of the key, infusing the thin silver with light. The delicately formed iron stars started to shine brightly as well, illuminating the key in a perfect replication of the night sky above Hogwarts. Watching the key intently, Hermione felt a pang of something in her chest, as if a small shard of glass were twisting inside her heart. This hurt, however, was unlike her physical pain; instead, it was purely emotional, pointing out a longing and sadness that Hermione didn't realize she had inside herself. Was it an ache for home? Hogwarts? Harry? _Yes, _her mind whispered. _And Draco._

As she watched, the key glowed brighter and brighter until Hermione had to shield her eyes from the light. With a quiet 'pop', the glow was immediately snuffed out and the smell of oranges drifted through the air around her. _Well….that was interesting, _Hermione thought, blinking repeatedly to regain her night vision. _What happens now?_

Sighing, Hermione rested her weight back against the door. She was taken entirely by surprise when she heard a load creak and the thick wood actually shifted behind her, her balance going haywire and her less-injured left arm immediately reaching down to stop her fall. The resulting hurt from that action was blinding, and pulses of intense pain originating at her collarbone wracked Hermione's body.

When the moment had passed, the witch hesitantly opened her eyes, holding her arm to her sternum as if to prevent it from moving. What she saw almost made her burst into relieved tears; the door was opened, torchlight from a dank, musty hallway illuminating Hermione's world once more. She looked up at the lock just above her head, only to see that her once-beautiful room key was now a misshapen lump of silver metal jammed into Lucius' dungeon lock. _I wonder if the lock is expensive to replace_, Hermione thought maliciously, a wicked grin flitting across her features. _I'd hate for Lucius to be inconvenienced when repairing his dungeons._

Biting her lip to brace herself for the pain that she knew was coming, Hermione put all of her weight on her feet and pushed herself up. She calmed her breathing and heart rate for a few moments, leaning heavily against the doorframe and willing her collarbone, head, and lungs to stop hurting. As soon as her world stopped spinning and the pain dulled to an only somewhat-blinding pulse, Hermione opened her eyes and looked around; _There's light to my left_, she observed, _let's start that way, shall we? Bloody hell, Hermione, who's 'we'? It's only you. _

She would have shaken her head if she hadn't been concerned that the action would cause her to faint. Taking a final deep breath, Hermione began slowly walking to her left, getting closer and closer to a weak source of seemingly-natural light that conflicted harshly with the torchlight. Brief shots of pain occasionally moved from her collarbone or head through her body, causing her shallow breathing to falter, but Hermione pushed onwards, determined to leave her black prison.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she reached an open doorframe that was letting light into the dungeon hallway. There was a pair of rusty, empty hinges on the left side of the door, with slivers of rotten wood clinging to the cold metal. Hermione's brow furrowed. _Obviously no one's really lived here for a while if the doors have managed to rot away with no one noticing…._

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps caused Hermione's thoughts to come to a screeching halt. Not knowing who might be coming, or whether or not they were there to check on her, she pressed herself up against a part of the hallway wall that was poorly illuminated by the surrounding torches. With a quick puff of air that caused another spasm of pain, Hermione blew out the torch nearest to her and listened to the footsteps come closer and closer. Voices floated over the air.

"….mudblood bitch?" Unaffected by the male voice's language, the wheels in Hermione's head started turning.

_Lower class British male, most likely from West England. Slight lisp. Young sounding, possibly early twenties or teens. _

"Nah, she's fine – apparently Lucius beat her up pretty good, she's not going anywhere."

_Male. Also lower class, but this sounds different…Welsh, maybe? Most likely still young-ish, possibly early- or mid-thirties. _

"But Lucius said that we're supposed to check on her!" the young voice said again, whining slightly.

The footsteps were _very _close by now, just outside of the empty doorway. Hermione held her breath painfully, keeping her eyes open. Two figures stopped just inside of the doorway, the last few torches distorting their features and shadows.

"Listen," the short, bigger shadow said, obviously irritated. "You're new. You don't get it – calm down, a'right?"

_So the old voice is the short one, which means that the tall awkward one is younger, _Hermione thought, her logic helping keep her emotions under control. _Who the hell are these people? _Answering her question, the tall figure turned his head slightly and caused torchlight to reflect off of a shiny, silver surface that covered his face. Hermione's blood ran cold. _Death Eaters. _

The young one started up again: "But Lucius said -"

"Shaddup, will ya?" the older death eater barked, smacking the young one upside the head. "Blimey, if you're going to whine all day we'll go check on the squib, alright?"

The younger figure straightened up significantly at that remark. "Is she _really _Hermione Granger?" he asked, tilting his head.

Grunting, the older man shrugged. "'S far as I know. Not like I've ever met her in person, but she looks like the girl from the papers."

The pair took the first few steps into the hallway, and Hermione felt her heart sink. Frantically looking to either side for potential weapons, her hopes fell even further. _I'm done_, she thought determinedly. _But I won't go down without a fight._

Realistically she knew that in her state no fight would go in her favour, but at least she might be able to give the two men some bruises, or scratch their faces, or something. _I have to try._

The men came closer and closer to her hiding place, now walking in silence. Readying herself for the best struggle she could possibly give, Hermione painfully bent her knees and flexed her left arm. However, just as the men were about to pass the last dim torchlight circle before Hermione, a loud wailing noise filled the hallway.

"Damn!" the older death eater shouted, lifting his mask off his face.

The younger one looked confused, glancing between the doorframe and further down the hallway where Hermione's cell was located. "But…we….uh…"

"Let's _move_!" the fat one yelled, pulling the young one back out of the hallway by the front of his robes. "Someone's gotten past the wards!"

Hermione let out a painful breath as she watched the men round the corner and dash away into the light, leaving her alone. Smiling weakly, she slid along the edge of the hallway and watched as four other death eaters ran past the opening to the dungeons. Checking that the coast was clear, Hermione turned out into what she now realized was the large entrance hall of some sort of mansion. _Leave it to Lucius to lay low in a frickin' castle_, she thought bitterly, pushing herself along the wall towards a side door.

Using her foot instead of her hands, Hermione pushed the old door open and grinned as pale, autumn sunlight hit her face. She took a step outside, relishing the feeling of grass under her feet and wind playing with her hair, relieved that she was no longer stuck in the dark disgusting dungeon.

As Hermione took a step away from the door, she heard a creak behind her. Turning her head as quickly as she could, her eyes grew wide. _Oh no. Nonononononono. _

Right behind her was a very angry, windblown, battle-dirty, eyes-blazing Lucius Malfoy. "You filthy mudblood!" he hissed through his teeth, drawing his wand out of his pocket. "You think you can run? You think your friends are going to save you?"

On his last word, Lucius lunged forward, reaching for the front of Hermione's robe. Painfully, the witch shifted away and started running. Her heart pounding, head throbbing, collarbone shrieking in pain, and her lungs working at over-capacity, she knew that she couldn't keep running for much longer. _But I have to try._

Her body betrayed her. After she'd only been running for a dozen seconds, Hermione's legs gave out and she fell to the ground. Moments later, she felt a cold hand on her back; Lucius had caught up. "Let go of me!" she shrieked, turning and clawing at his un-masked face.

Lucius let out a pained yell, but refused to let go of Hermione even as blood oozed down his face from the scratches her nails had made. "You're coming with _me_!" he said, yanking her robes and causing Hermione to whimper from the pain in her collarbone and ribs. "And you will come _quietly_!"

Wheezing, on the verge of collapse, Hermione steeled her expression and straightened her back. Looking straight into Lucius' dirty-grey eyes, she shook her head slowly.

A crashing noise to her right caused Hermione to look away from Lucius, and what she saw brought her heart soaring and sent it into a free-fall at the same time; a dirty, tired, but safe Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her, wand drawn, chest heaving, her Harrod's scarf wrapped around his neck. Brown eyes clouded with pain met blue, and the fear in Draco's eyes caused Hermione's stomach to lurch. _Fear for me? For himself? But there's more than fear there….is that pride? _

Behind her, Hermione heard Lucius chuckle as he adjusted his grip on Hermione so that he had his arm around her throat and his wand pointed at the wound on her head. "Why darling Draco," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm and malice. "Come to pay your father a visit? How kind." Draco's eyes narrowed, his wand still at the ready, but he didn't cast any spells. Hermione's heart sank. _He can't do it, _she thought. _He's not that kind of person. _

Lucius continued: "Unfortunately, we were just leaving. Lovely to see you, _son_. Drop by again soon. Actually, on second thought, there's no need."

And before Draco could so much as flinch, Lucius disapparated with a 'crack', taking Hermione with him and leaving her with the image of an angry, exhausted, and determined looking Draco staring into her eyes. _He'll come for me_, she thought just before she descended once more into blackness.

_A/N: Sorry that it's late, everyone! Hopefully it's up to par though, and you can all still enjoy it. My deepest, most sincere apologies once again. I'm hesitant to put a date on my next chapter release, just 'cause these next two weeks are insanely ridiculously stupidly busy for me. I can probably safely say that before December 1st I'll have at least one other chapter finished and posted. Please continue to R&R, your support and opinions are always appreciated!_

_By the way, a shout-out to any Californian readers; I finished this last chapter while at a conference at Stanford University, and loved the Cali weather and hopsitality! :) _

_~sneakyslytherin_


	16. Metal Kisses

A flash of green whizzed past Draco's ear, and the blonde swore loudly as he shot a stunner into the bushes to his left. "Watch behind!" he called out to Luna who was feverishly battling an unmasked, unknown Death Eater. She heard Draco's warning just in time, throwing up a shield behind her as a green flash from the bushes nearly collided with her. Instead, the light ricocheted off her spell and hit a nearby tree, causing the bark to sizzle and crumble into fine black ash. Luna met Draco's eyes for a moment, nodded her thanks, and then turned back to her winded opponent.

Draco swiveled his head, watching the battle around him unfold. Harry was taking on two Death Eaters simultaneously, hitting them with strange purple charms that Draco had never seen before, while Ron and Neville were working together to immobilize and bind a group of five Death Eaters. At least a half-dozen masked and unmasked men and women littered the ground, none of them dead or physically harmed. However, one Death Eater was conspicuously missing; Draco had been searching frantically for a head of platinum blonde hair, but had so far been entirely unsuccessful.

Determined, Draco dashed through the castle main doors and into what he knew was the main hallway. Dusty tapestries depicting medieval wizarding battles hung all around him, hiding the crumbling walls with their faded and worn threads. To his right, an empty doorframe lead to the dungeons, to his left a worn door would take him to the side gardens. About to turn into the dungeon hallway, Draco paused. _Something's wrong_, he thought, his mind swirling in a maelstrom of his own creation. _She's not down here._

Against common sense, Draco whirled around and headed towards the side garden, pushing through the door and crashing through the overgrown shrubs to get to where he knew the path was. Emerging from the trees, what Draco saw stopped him in his tracks; Hermione, kneeling on the ground, her hair held in a fist by Lucius Malfoy whose face was inches away from hers. When the witch tilted her head to look at Draco, he could barely repress a gasp at her battered face and bloody clothes. However, the expression on her face gave him pause. Contrary to what one would expect, it wasn't an expression of defeat – rather, through her split lip, black eye, labored breathing, and bloody forehead, Hermione looked defiant, confident, and hopeful. Draco felt a stirring of pride in his chest, knowing that she was so strong. _Keep it up Hermione, _he thought, willing her to hear his words. _Just a bit longer._

As Draco watched, Lucius Malfoy finally noticed his son's presence. Chuckling darkly, the older Malfoy pulled Hermione upright by her neck and pointed his wand at the ugly gash on her forehead. Her face a mask, Hermione's brown eyes stared meaningfully into Draco's. Emotions flickered like comets behind her irises, so quickly that Draco couldn't place any of them.

"Why darling Draco," Lucius hissed, pushing his wand lightly into Hermione's cut, "Come to pay your father a visit? How kind."

Draco's eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips tightly together. His wand felt heavy in his fingertips, the wood smooth and powerful. _You could do it, _his mind whispered. _Just cast a spell Draco, a simple immobulus. _But something was stopping him, some strange force within his chest was pressing on his heart, constricting it.

_I can't! _

_But you have to. If not now, eventually. Who else can stop him and save Hermione?_

Draco saw something flicker across Hermione's face; doubt? Fear? _C'mon Draco, just cast a bloody expelliarmus!_

_But you know it would go beyond that, don't you? One spell becomes two, two becomes three, three becomes a duel, and in a duel with Lucius Malfoy there's only ever one wizard who walks out alive….it's never not been him, so far._

Jolting Draco out of his own thoughts, Lucius continued his one-sided conversation. "Unfortunately, we were just leaving."

_No._

"Lovely to see you, _son_. Drop by again soon."

_NO! DO SOMETHING DRACO!_

"Actually, on second thought, there's no need."

A sudden surge of motion rushing to Draco's fingertips, the blonde cast a silent _immobulus_, sending the streak of blue light towards where his father stood. Meeting Hermione's eyes, however, he knew it was too late; brown met blue, and the only emotion that Draco saw was pain. Obviously she was more injured than Draco could see, and her wounds were draining her. _She's so strong_, he thought, watching his spell fill the space between them as if in slow motion.

Draco swore that he could still see her eyes after she'd disappeared, his spell crashing into the hedge behind where Lucius had stood moments before. The loud 'crack' of apparition filled the air seconds after the couple had disappeared, but Draco was still left staring at where Hermione had been just instants before.

He could've sworn that the pain he felt split his chest was the feeling of his heart breaking as he watched her slip away from him again.

Frozen, an expression of shock and dismay plastered to his face, Draco was still holding his wand out in midair when Ron, Harry, Neville, and Luna all arrived with their wands drawn. "Lucius?" Ron asked, panting, his eyes flickering around.

Draco managed to move, regaining his steely, emotionless façade. Compartmentalizing his emotions into a spiritual box to deal with later, the blonde turned to face his equally battered and exhausted school mates. He nodded curtly at Ron, moving towards where Lucius had stood, then grimacing at the blood that covered the area of grass. "Hermione's wounded," Draco said shortly, rubbing a bloody blade of grass between his fingertips. "Badly, I believe. It's imperative that we locate them again, _soon_."

Neville sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "He could be anywhere, Draco," Neville said, closing his eyes. "Now that he knows we're looking for him he'll follow no logical pattern."

"That's not good enough," Draco said coolly, matter-of-factly, pushing down the clawing beast of pain in his chest that wanted to yell at the stupid, stupid people standing in front of him. Undoing the sides of his vest to allow for easier breathing, Draco stalked past the speechless group and back into the house. Walking down the damp hallway of the dungeon, Draco cast a strong _lumos _and started jogging down the oppressively dark hall.

Reaching a door that remained slightly open, Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He kicked the door open with his foot, and held back a strangled half-sob at what he saw; a disgusting amount of blood covered one specific corner of the pitch-black cell, and bloody boot prints led from that corner out into the hall. A burning red rage filled Draco's soul, and his frustration exploded out of him in a savage yell.

When the red mist had cleared from his sight, Draco realized that he'd been pounding his hand against the side of the cell, turning his palm into a shredded red mess. Barely even feeling the pain, Draco almost reached up to use his scarf as a bandage. He stopped just in time, holding his bloody hand as far away from Hermione's scarf as possible. Casting a quick healing charm, Draco dropped his arm to his side. Refusing to let the tears and the anger take him, Draco pulled Hermione's scarf over his nose and breathed deeply. He counted to ten, and when he opened his eyes they were dull, detached, the pain pushed into some far corner of his mind to deal with later.

_How did you get out of here, Hermione? _he wondered, looking around the terrifying room, feeling the darkness she must have felt pressing in on her.

Crouching down in the non-bloody corner, Draco's eyes immediately fell upon the thick, charmed door. After enduring countless lectures from his father about medieval defenses and Malfoy curses, Draco knew that this door was laced with anti-escape charms, blinding curses, burning curses, torture curses, and any other nasty form of pain-inflicting curse that one could imagine. Any genuine attempt to escape would trigger some curse or other, usually rendering the prisoner incapable of coherent thought let alone motion or escape.

Draco shuddered and crossed the small room to examine the door and lock, amazed that Hermione had managed to avoid triggering any sort of spell. What he saw when he got to the lock made his heart soar; there, illuminated by his dull lumos charm, was a blob of misshapen silver clustered around a clear gemstone. "Her key!" Draco whispered energetically, summoning the metal out of the lock to avoid touching the deadly door. The silver pulsed lightly when it felt the hand of its creator, before once more become a misshapen lump of metal. Lightly brushing his fingertip overtop of the half-hidden gem, Draco smiled faintly. The clear jewel remained perfectly transparent, showing clearly the twisted silver that surrounded it on all sides. _The protection charm did its job, _he thought, his heart twisting.

This particular key was special because Draco had charmed it specially to activate for someone who needed to escape; not just physically, but also from the world around them. Remembering his own surprise at Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, receiving the protection-key, Draco shook his head. All it took was a few weeks to know that she really did crave escape, but it wasn't so much escape from a prison – it was escape from society, and the pressures and expectations that the world put on her.

_But she had to actually use it to escape, _Draco thought bitterly, curling his hand around the wrecked metal, relishing the feeling of it digging into his skin. He was jarred out of his thoughts by a far-away voice calling out his name. "Coming!" he shouted up the hallway, looking around Hermione's prison one last time before returning to the world of hollow light.

The portkey that Luna used brought the battle-weary warriors directly to the Great Hall, bypassing Hogwarts' barriers and wards easily. _No wonder Lucius could get onto the grounds_, Draco thought angrily, feeling the metal of Hermione's key still pushing into the palm of his hand. _Our wards must be littered with apparition and portkey seams._

"Oi, do you always leave a transport seam open?"

It seemed that Ron had just had the same thought that had occurred to Draco, and the redhead was intently questioning the confused-looking Professor Flitwick. "Well, yes – no. Yes." He was obviously flustered. "Mister Weasley, did you succeed in locating Miss Granger?!"

"Yes," Ron said shortly, "but Malfoy apparated away with her before Malfoy could do anything."

All eyes in the room turned to look at Draco, each face laced with suspicion, anger, or confusion. Malfoy felt like screaming, but instead he just narrowed his eyes. "If you'll excuse me everyone," he said coolly, controlling his tone carefully, "I'd like to go upstairs and clean up. I'll be down shortly to discuss the strategy for our next rescue."

Not even bothering to stay and hear the group's answer, Draco turned on his heel and walked quickly out of the hall. The emotions that Draco had bottled up so expertly were spilling over, bubbling and hissing until his vision was blurred with tears and his chest was trembling with the sobs that he was suppressing. Images of Hermione curled in dark corners of cells, under Lucius Malfoy's polished boot heels, crying, hurt, swam across his mind until Draco couldn't stand it anymore.

Sprinting up the final few staircases to the eighth-year dorm, Draco barely managed to fumble the door to his room open before sitting down on the bed and putting his head in his hands. "She's fine, Draco, she's strong," he ground out, not believing a word that he said. "Hermione will be fine. You saw her."

_Yes, you saw her. And you did nothing. You saw their faces in the Great Hall, no one thinks you even tried, coward!_

"I couldn't do anything! She was right in front of him, was I supposed to hit her too?"

_You were supposed to at least take the chance, Malfoy._

"Don't call me that."

_It's your name, isn't it?_

"Yes, but it's his name too."

In that moment, Draco felt as if his blood was traitorous, poisonous, pulsing through his veins and eating away at his cells and tissues like a growing darkness. It was breaking down his body, soul, and identity until the only thing left would be his name, and that was _not _how he wanted to be remembered. It was a name he shared with an evil, and no matter how hard he tried to break away from that evil it would always be branded into his skin just as surely as the Dark Mark was – even more permanently, in fact. The Dark Mark he could cover up with scars, but his own blood was undeniably linked to his body forever.

His hand shaking, Draco reached under his mattress and pulled out a single, silver, muggle razor blade. Cleaned obsessively and sharpened regularly, it was beautiful and deadly in the dim lighting of Draco's room. Placing the instrument tentatively down on his side table, Draco pulled off his vest and shirt in one fluid motion, the laces on his battle gear already undone. He shucked off his boots as well, careful not to disturb the knives in the hidden pouches. Finally, Draco unwrapped Hermione's scarf from his neck and used a charm to rest it on the chair beside his bed. Not able to actually look at the scarf, Draco one again picked up the razor.

As if on autopilot, Draco placed the razor horizontal to his wrist in the middle of the almost scarred-beyond-recognition Dark Mark, just over where the skull's mouth opened to reveal the snake. He could feel the relief, just moments away, his blood spilling over his skin and relieving the pressure that was constantly building up inside of him, taking his traitorous blood and getting rid of at least some of it for a small while. The cool of the razor was welcome against his hot skin, almost like a kiss.

It was the thought of kisses that caused Draco to open his eyes, his gaze immediately settling on the scarf over the back of his chair. _Kisses_, he thought slowly. _Real kisses._

Instead of the feeling of metal on his forearm, Draco could immediately feel the warm, light, feathery feel of Hermione's lip, the fluttering feeling at his elbow indicating that her eyelashes were moving slightly. With his eyes closed, Draco felt the kisses move up his arm until the warmth reached his own lips and he could feel Hermione's cheek against his. Her lips were like small patches of fresh air, or cool relief against his skin. "Draco," she breathed, even her breath feeling cool and merciful. "Don't. Please."

Letting out a harsh sob, Draco raised the razor in front of his face, his eyes locking on the offensive yet tempting metal. With a determination he had rarely felt before, Draco flung the razor into the rubbish bin, hearing the metal echo off metal. "Hermione, I need you," he whispered, running his fingers through his hair and wiping away tears that had leaked out the corner of his eyes. "You're my second chance….I don't want to make a fresh start without you. I can't."

Taking a deep, ragged breath, Draco sat up. Throwing on a loose t-shirt and Hermione's scarf, he left the room and headed towards the Headmistress' office where he was certain the students would be discussing strategy. "I'm going to get you back Hermione," Draco said softly, twirling a scarf tassel between his fingertips. "You're going to get home safely. I promise."

_A/N: Ta-da! Next chapter! Before December, as promised! :) Ok, so the next one should be up before December 8th, but reviews might encourage me to work faster (hint hint ;-) ). So please R&R!_

_Also, thanks to Honoria Granger for pointing out my error about 'greaves' in the last chapter - I actually should have used the word 'vambrace', and I apologise for any confusion._


	17. Cold Winds, Cold Waters

_ "Draco!"_

_ "Hermione!"_

_ The Slytherin was running, trapped in a maze with walls of black onyx, sound echoing strangely and light seeming to seep into the walls or reflect unnaturally. "Draco, where are you?"_

_ "I'm coming!" he shouted, his voice hoarse, his breathing labored. He'd been running for hours, days, weeks, stuck in this black maze, trying to find Hermione's voice._

_ "You're close, Draco, I can feel it!" she called out, her voice ricocheting all around._

_ Just as Draco was about to collapse from the exertion, he rounded a corner and saw her; lip bleeding, head bloodied, bruised beyond all belief, but there. "Hermione," he breathed, slowing and walking up to her. "I thought I'd never find you! I -"_

_ Suddenly Draco stopped. Hermione seemed strange…two dimensional….separate. "Draco?" she whispered, holding her palm flat up in front of her. "Draco, don't leave me."_

_ "I won't leave you," he assured her, restarting his approach cautiously. "I promised that I'd never leave you, remember?"_

_ Hermione nodded, tears seeping out the corners of her eyes. "Then don't come any closer," she breathed, barely audible. _

_ His heart lurching, Draco stopped. Before his eyes, he watched Hermione ripple – _ripple?_ – and come back into clarity. _She's behind something_, he thought, confused. _But I can see right through it….it's like a partition, or a veil…..oh no. Merlin no.

_ Clearing the last few feet between them in one short bound, Draco stopped just in front of a shimmering barely-perceptible veil, similar to the one from the Department of Mysteries that he'd seen in his father's memories. "No," he murmured, holding his hand out in front of him to almost touch the barrier that separated him from Hermione, the living from the dead. "You can't be dead, 'Mione, you can't be…."_

_ She was silent, her brown eyes staring mournfully into his blue ones. _

_ "Talk to me Hermione," Draco begged, resisting the urge to pound his fist against the shimmering barrier. "Say something!" His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her tilt her head, her expression sad._

_ Finally, after the silence had stretched for a seemingly infinite moment, Hermione sighed. "Goodbye Draco," she said, and she turned away._

_ "No!" Draco shouted, tempted to take his chances and jump through the barrier to follow her receding form. "Hermione, come back!"_

Draco sprang awake, immediately transitioning from deep sleep into consciousness. His sheets were a tangled mess, half kicked off the bed and half wrapped around his legs, his body covered in sweat. _It was just a dream Draco_, he assured himself, sitting up and putting his head in his hands. _Just a dream…_

Knowing that sleep would elude him for the rest of the night – if not forever – Draco stood up and threw on a hoodie over his bare chest, keeping his black pajama pants on. He padded out of his room, out of the dorm, and down the stairs, his destination clearly in his mind. When he reached the Black Lake, seemingly bottomless due to the still-black sky above him, Draco discarded his hoodie and leapt into the frigid waters, welcoming their blackness.

Cold water covered every inch of Draco's skin, enveloping him in a freezing wet blanket , jolting life into his pores. Bubbles surrounded him in a white cloud, and when they cleared the dark, murky waters of the Black Lake came into view. Not really knowing why, Draco began swimming forwards, barely ever needing to pause to breathe; he felt incredibly strong, unstoppable, pounding the water with every iota of strength he had in order to gain headway in the frigid liquid. _Where am I even going? _he thought, mildly puzzled by his own determination.

Suddenly, out of the black waters, Draco caught a flash of red. _Red?_ His brain whirred incomprehensibly. Draco pushed himself towards the colour, watching the shape grow closer and closer with every stroke he took. Only a few strokes away, he realized that the shape was Hermione.

Wearing the red bathing suit that she'd used that one day by the lake, her hair floating behind her gracefully, Draco could almost believe that Hermione was swimming in the Black Lake with him. In a moment of painful reality, however, Draco's brain said quietly, _This is a waking dream, blondie,_ and Draco's hopes fell slightly. _But still, real or not, if she's here…._

Floating towards the majestic swimmer, her skin glistening even in the dark of the lake, Draco reached towards the wonderful illusion. To his surprise, Hermione looked back. Impossibly, she smiled at him and said, "Hello Draco," before reaching out her hand.

Draco took it, following her lead as she pulled him in close, wrapping her arms around his bare waist, tracing over the thick scars on his forearms. "Hermione," Draco whispered, his dialogue causing bubbles to leap from his mouth and race each other to the surface. Water filled his lungs, and he had to surface to cough and take another deep breath. Diving back into the lake, he floated into Hermione's waiting embrace.

She placed a finger on his lips and shook her head. "Don't talk," she said, her words not releasing any air.

_Of course she doesn't create bubbles, Draco, she's not real_, he criticized himself, frustrated, running his hand along her bare shoulder and caressing the exposed skin. _How can she not be real when she feels this real? How is she not here with me?!_

"Draco," Hermione said, her eyes wide and pleading. "Find me, please."

About to say, "I'm trying!" Draco was silenced by Hermione's lips over his. Just as cool and magical as they were in his imaginings the previous day, the blonde closed his eyes and pulled her in closer, tangling his fingers in her hair. His lungs were burning, but he refused to give into his mortal, weak needs. _No. I could stay here forever, _he vowed, his lips tracing patterns on Hermione's cheeks and face.

When he was forced to pull away and breathe, Draco felt empty, isolated. Entirely alone above the dark lake. When he opened he eyes and ducked back under the water, he saw that Hermione was floating backwards, down and out of his reach. Fruitlessly swimming after her, Draco met her sad eyes – a replica of the expression she had worn the day before – and watched her say, "Please," before the waters of the Black Lake swallowed her whole.

Feeling like his heart had just been ripped from his chest, Draco surfaced once more. Anguish filling his entire being, a red rage clouding his mind and vision, and he let out a loud, pain-filled yell that echoed around the deserted school grounds. Flipping himself onto his back so that he could see the moonless sky, Draco allowed tears to fall from his eyes and mingle with the unsalted waters of the Scottish lake. Losing himself in thoughts of Hermione, he barely even noticed that he had floated all the way back to the shore until his head collided sharply with a rock.

"Shit!" he swore, rubbing at the already-sore area on his skull. "Goddamn pebbles…." The rocks loomed large and black over the edge of the lake, providing a craggy, rugged appearance to this 'off-limits' area of the campus. The silhouettes conjured an entirely different set of memories for Draco, sending him back to a cold Irish castle, surrounded by water and stones where the water froze his soul and his father had held him underwater for what felt like years….

It was as if a light had been switched on inside Draco's head. _That's where he'd take her, sadistic bastard! _he exclaimed, immediately swimming back to shore as quickly as he possibly could. Draco's muscles screamed in protest, but he barely noticed; each stroke took him closer to Hermione, and he wasn't going to lose her this time.

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

Hermione stared bleakly around her new cell, curled into a tight ball to protect her injured ribs and head. _Well, at least this one has light_, she thought, trying to find the silver lining on this undeniably dark cloud. This holding cell seemed to be the exact opposite of her last prison; cold, with grey stones, and with one large, narrow window, Hermione had realized that she was at the very top of a crumbling tower.

Wind whistled through gaps in the wall, making every inch of the cell unbelievably cold and uncomfortable. Uncurling herself and standing by the window, Hermione couldn't even tell where the sky ended and the sea began; both were grey and angry-looking, and the horizon was invisible from her viewpoint. Water churned around the rocks at the base of her tower, the white water crashing over the harsh stones with loud, terrifying noises. _I've never liked the sea_, Hermione thought, shuddering. _At least not seas like this….the Caribbean on a good day, sure, but not Northern Seas…_

She had contemplated jumping – Hermione was thin enough to fit through the window – but had dismissed the thought almost immediately. The tower was so high she would surely die, and even if she managed to miss the rocks and hit the water she had no idea where the nearest land was, whether Lucius had wards up, or whether she could survive a swim in her condition. Sighing heavily, Hermione leaned back against the wall beside the window, curling up again. Her hair whipped around her face, sticking to her skin because of the dried blood, but she was beyond caring. _If the injury hasn't killed me by now, I'm fine. _

The clanking of a key turning in the lock caused Hermione's head to jerk up, her eyes wide and her heart pounding painfully against her broken ribs. Moments after the loud noise filled the previously-silent cell, Lucius Malfoy stepped into Hermione's prison. A gloating expression on his face, Hermione's scratch-marks healed and his clothes immaculately repaired, he walked slowly and deliberately towards where she was crouching. "Feeling better, mudblood?" he asked, resting his hand above the cut on her head. Hermione closed her eyes, resisting the impulse to flinch away from the man's greasy, unwelcome touch. "I see you're not in as much pain as before," Lucius said, tracing her cut with one long finger. "Pity." With a violent tug, Lucius used his nail to split open the barely-healed skin and re-start the blood flow.

Hermione hissed, a wave of dizziness crashing over her like the sea over the rocks below. When she had recovered slightly, Hermione opened her eyes. "I see that you've cleaned up, Malfoy," she ground out, moving her lips no more than necessary. "Although personally I think that your face looked much better the way I left it."

Absentmindedly tracing his cheek where Hermione had scratched him, Lucius scowled. "You think you're brave, don't you, filthy mudblood?"

His eyes were glowing dangerously, but Hermione matched his stare exactly. "Not brave," she said, "just not stupid enough to go along with you willingly."

Chuckling darkly, Lucius kicked Hermione aside and walked up to the window. "Ireland never appealed to me," he said dismissively, waving his hand at the grey world outside, ignoring the struggling Hermione. "I only ever returned to this castle because it terrified Draco and I believed he would learn a lesson by mastering his fears." Arching his eyebrow at Hermione and looking her up and down, Lucius continued by saying, "Apparently he didn't."

"Draco is braver than you'd ever imagine!" Hermione shouted, ignoring the pain in her lungs that speaking caused.

Malfoy laughed once; a harsh bark. "Why? Because he had the courage to befriend a mudblood bitch? Because he had the strength of mind to switch to the winning side at the end of the war? Because he succumbed to the pressure of service to the Dark Lord and mutilated his own body?" Hermione's wide eyes must have betrayed her surprise, as Lucius' lips curled up into a sneer. "Oh yes, I know about that – I gave him his first scars, but he took it from there. You don't think that I noticed him locking his doors? Wearing long sleeves? The scars on his Mark whenever we were summoned? Those are tell-tale signs of weakness, mudblood."

"Weakness?" Hermione spat out, her anger bubbling over. "Draco is anything _but _weak! He's rejoining society, and contributing, not acting like some vigilante staging kidnappings to achieve impossible goals! It's _you_, Lucius, who is the weak one."

Malfoy scowled, his face once again becoming shadowed and frightening. "Oh? Is that so?" he said softly. "The mudblood knows it all, does she? Then tell me, _Golden Girl_, why didn't Draco join the Light as soon as he realized the error of his ways in sixth year? Why didn't he immediately go to McGonagall, begging for forgiveness like that coward Snape?"

Hermione faltered slightly. "It would have put his life in danger," she said simply. "It wasn't a smart move."

Malfoy laughed, throwing his head back in a strange carefree gesture. "Foolish, ignorant girl! Draco wasn't _genuinely _swayed by the Light! He was being trained as a spy, to infiltrate the Order and pass information to the Dark Lord." Something in Hermione's stomach fell away. "All those occasions where he avoided involving himself in conflict, voiced his support of the Light, or went out of his way to help you Gryffindor brats; all of it was in an attempt to gain McGonagall's trust and gain admission to the Order inner circle."

"No," Hermione breathed, her eyes looking around her but not seeing. "He genuinely changed in sixth and seventh year, he wanted to help us -"

"One thing about Light Wizards that you can always count on is their undying optimism, their willingness to believe in the absolute best of people," Lucius said, picking at his nails. "It was easy to convince you all that he wanted to help, and even easier to train him as a spy. The only weak point in the plan was Draco's penchant for self-mutilation. And, of course, the war ended before our plan came to fruition, but – alas! – you win some, you lose some….."

Hermione had barely heard Lucius' words, her mind whirling and spinning at a million miles an hour. _No…not Draco…he wants a fresh start, he wanted to help us!... a spy? No….nonononono….he was genuinely concerned, I know it. Lucius never saw the real Draco._

Composed again, Hermione looked back up at Lucius. "You don't get it, do you?" she said, painfully heaving herself up so that she was only a head shorter than the blonde aristocrat. "Draco never wanted to do anything you told him to, he was always working for the Light in the end. He did what was right!"

Lucius sighed. "That's what he wants to you think, precious," he said, running a cold, rough finger against Hermione's battered cheek. The motion drew Hermione's attention to Lucius' head, which was silhouetted perfectly by the narrow window. An idea started to form in her mind.

"You've been deceived. He never _really _wanted to switch sides – at least, not until the end of the war was inevitably in favour of the Light." His hand moved over her split lip, and Hermione was tempted to bite it. _Don't move, _she thought. _He's right in front of the window…._

"In the end, Draco didn't work for me, or Dumbledore…he only ever worked for himself. It just so happened that path…._connected _with yours. Next time I see my son, his treachery will _not _go unpunished."

As soon as Lucius stopped speaking, Hermione launched herself towards him with all of her might, sending him toppling backwards. His head hanging out the window and over the frightening emptiness that led only to rocks, water, and death, Hermione placed her hands over his neck, ignoring her body's spasm of pain. Lucius' eyes grew wide, his mouth slightly agape. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't push you over," she threatened, squeezing Lucius' neck so that her nails would leave marks in his skin.

Suddenly, Lucius' expression switched from one to shock to one of satisfaction. Hermione was too late to react; using her own weight against her, Lucius flipped himself around and whirled, pinning Hermione's injured collarbone to the stones with an intense flash of pain. Hermione grimaced, her eyes closed. "That's my reason," Lucius said smugly, pressing down on her shattered bone and causing stars to swim in front of her eyes.

She could feel the cool air tangling her unsecured hair, the cold dampness from the sea spray far below sticking to her skin. Staring purposefully at Lucius, masking her fear, Hermione stayed silent. "Ah, finally at a loss for words?" the eldest Malfoy gloated, running a long nail down her cheek. With another small shove, Hermione's entire front body was out the window, her life literally held in the balance with one of Lucius' well-manicured, fragile hands. Hermione closed her eyes, refusing to cry, refusing to think about dying or those she would leave behind. _Breathe, girl, breathe…._

Just as she was certain that she would soon be best friends with the grey rocks below, Lucius grabbed the front of her shirt and heaved her back into the room, holding her up in front of him. Lucius leaned in, a malicious grin on his face, his lips millimeters from her ear; "Trust me, dear. Sometimes silence truly is golden."

Hermione didn't say anything back. Closing her eyes and letting her posture slump, she resigned herself to whatever Lucius had planned for her. Suddenly, Malfoy gasped and dropped his prisoner, sending Hermione crashing to the ground with a large 'crack' – _something else broken_ – she whimpered, cradling her now-throbbing leg and banishing the white-pain from her vision.

"It seems you have visitors," Lucius growled, his cape sweeping about him dramatically as he drew his wand and faced the door. "Let's give them a welcome, shall we?"

With a flick of his wrist, Hermione was bound, gagged, and trapped behind a semi-transparent ward. As she watched, helplessly, Lucius muttered various curses and hexes, embedding them into the stones and the door, the sickly-green magic oozing into the already-traumatized elements around him. Soon enough, Hermione heard the clatter of footsteps up the stairs, the clamor of voices. _Please don't be Draco, please don't be Draco_, her mind chanted, hoping against hope that the foolish Slytherin hadn't given into his Gryffindor behavior traits.

Lucius stopped his preparations, and the room fell into silence; Hermione didn't speak, Malfoy didn't move from his fighting stance, and whoever was outside the door had also fallen silent. It was like the entire castle was holding its breath.

Suddenly, with a spectacular bang, the door flew open and Hermione could clearly see the people on the other side of the door, silhouetted by a haze of magic and dust. Her soul collapsed in on itself.

_No. Please, no…._

A/N: Ta daaaaa! Chapter Seventeen, and sooner than I'd hoped! :) Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews and favourites, it really makes my day during this crazy-exam time to see that people have the time to read my jibberish. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out by December 15th at the latest, but I do have to get my holiday shopping done at some point decently soon. (Cue the horror music...) Thanks y'all for your continued support, please R&R. :) :) ~sneakyslytherin


	18. Closing Windows

Droplets of water raced each other down Draco's body as the blonde hurriedly ran down the stairs, fastening his vambraces, vest, and charming his bootlaces to do up. Compared to the slow, methodical preparation that the students had taken for the last rescue attempt, this plan seemed like chaos; everyone hurrying to get their battle gear, not knowing what they would face on the other side of the portkey, praying that it wasn't too late for Hermione.

Swearing as his wet hair swung down into his eyes, Draco applied a quick drying charm to his entire body. He alternated hopping on each foot as he checked for the knives he still had secreted away in his boots, and he double-checked that his extra wand was still in place. _Bugger it_, he thought, sprinting down the last staircase. _If I'm missing something, I'm missing something._

Just outside the main doors, Draco paced nervously waiting for Ron and Harry. _Theyshouldbeherebynow, whyaren'ttheyhere, what'stakingthemsolong?_ His thoughts blurred together as his walking pace increased in agitation. Fiddling nervously with their portkey – one of Draco's old school crests – the blonde was relieved when he saw a mop of black, unruly hair and another ginger blob come streaking across the Great Hall. Draco bit his tongue, just stopping himself from grumbling, "Took you long enough". Instead, he nodded firmly and held out the Slytherin badge.

Ron hesitated obviously, his hand frozen in the air between his body and the green-and-silver crest. His Gryffindor hatred had apparently kicked in. Eyes narrowed, he said, "Where are you taking us again, Malfoy?"

"I'd prefer if you called me Draco," Draco said acidly, "and we're going to Northern Ireland. The Malfoys have an unplottable castle on the North-Western seawall. We're using my school badge because this was the portkey I used to travel there as a child; it's the only thing that will bring us to the outskirts of the wards. Even though the castle isn't in very good shape, that's where my father would take Hermione."

"How do you know?" Ron asked, his still-outstretched hand now curled into a fist.

Draco sighed, counting as valuable seconds passed and cursing any redhead ever born. "Because, _Weasley_, this castle is where I was given my most violent, terrifying childhood memories, and my father is the type of sadistic bastard who would find it wonderfully ironic to take Hermione there." Draco gave Harry a meaningful look. "Now, I'm sure that Hermione would appreciate it if we would stop asking questions, get our asses in gear, and _go rescue her_."

Still looking uncertain, Ron nodded slightly. "Fine, Malf….Draco," he conceded, "but if this is a trap, you're going to wish that your scrawny ferret soul had never heard of Ron Weasley."

"It won't be a trap Ron," Harry said softly. "We can trust Draco."

Ron looked at Harry with wide eyes. "Since when did we trust the ferret?" he asked, slightly outraged. "I mean, I get cooperating with him on missions and whatnot, but this could be a trap, Harry! He's still a bloody Malfoy!"

"Hermione trusted – _trusts _him," Harry said firmly, correcting himself quickly. "That's good enough for me. If you don't want to be a part of this Ron, then go back to the Ministry. No one will blame you." Harry met Draco's eyes and smiled slightly. "Ready, Draco?"

The Slytherin felt something tug inside of his chest, and he softened his expression. Nodding to convey his thanks and his acquiescence to Harry's question, Draco once again held out his school crest. With a final glance at Harry, Ron grabbed the edge of the fabric. "Constant vigilance, you know?" he mumbled, looking down at the ground.

Just as Harry was about to grab onto the portkey, the three students were frozen by a loud, "STOP!" coming from the hallway. The boys turned. Harry's eyes grew wide, Ron's jaw fell open, and Draco's heart began hammering in his chest. There, right in front of them, was the entire eighth year looking incredibly intimidating. Lavender and Padma stood together, arms linked, wearing tight-fitting dueling clothes and with their hair tied back. Seamus and Dean stood on either side of the ladies, Seamus with his arm around Lavender's shoulder. Michael, Justin, and Neville all stood to Seamus's left, each of them equipped not only with wands but also with the sharp swords typically used in traditional dueling. The irony of this was not lost on Draco, who met Neville's eyes with a slight smile when he noticed the glinting red on the hilt of the young man's sword. Hannah stood directly next to Neville, for once looking ferocious and upset rather than meek and shy. Susan looked barely any different than every day in class, only now she had shed her cumbersome robes and revealed her leather dueling garb and high boots. She, surprisingly, was standing beside Dean, her hand entwined with his. _When the heck did that happen? _Draco wondered, still in shock from seeing all these people.

Ginny was standing beside Susan, the two red-heads looking equally intimidating. Ginny's eyes locked on Harry's, but this time Draco could see that she was past asking for permission and had decided to take matters into her own hands. Finally, Draco's eyes rested on Luna at the very edge of the line; she was wearing the same dueling robes as earlier, however an unfamiliar man was standing beside her. He was tall and broad-shouldered with dark features, but his smile seemed to light up his face.

"We're here to help rescue Hermione," Neville said loudly, lifting his chin as if daring Draco to go against him.

Harry and Draco shared a long look before turning back to the determined group before them. "This will be dangerous," Harry warned, looking at each individual fighter in turn. "We don't know what's on the other side of this portkey – we really don't even know if Hermione will _be _there – so we're basically operating blind. If this bothers any of you, leave now."

No one moved.

"I take it that everyone still wishes to follow through with this?" Harry asked, his scar just visible in the dawn light, reminding Draco of all that this mop-haired, goofy young boy had done and what he now stood for. Noting everyone's silence, Harry nodded. "Right then. Get over here, the lot of you."

Ginny crossed the ground between her and Harry in seconds, planting a kiss on Harry's cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. "This means a lot to me. To all of us."

Coughing subtly to prevent the inevitable display of affection, Draco held out his crest once more. "Grab hold," he said unnecessarily, watching everyone scramble to touch an exposed area of fabric.

"Oh! Everyone, this is Rolf," Luna said happily, her eyes bright.

The mysterious stranger smiled. "I'm Luna's boyfriend," he said without a hint of embarrassment. "I work for the Ministry and dueling is in my line of work, so Luna suggested that I should come along. If this Hermione is as important to the rest of you as she is to Luna, then she's sure as hell worth rescuing. Hopefully you don't mind me coming along."

"Not at all," Ron said quickly, his eyes like saucers. "Please, Rolf, grab ahold of the portkey."

Neville gave his red-headed friend a strange look, raising his eyebrows. "Don't you know who that is?" Ron hissed excitedly. "That's _Rolf_, as in the Department of Mysteries Unspeakable _Rolf_! His work is amazing!"

"How do you know this if he's an Unspeakable? Isn't the point of being an Unspeakable that you can't speak about it?" Neville asked logically.

Ron grew very, very red. "Bill might've mentioned it once or twice," he mumbled, once again examining the ground beneath his shoes.

"Ready everyone?" Draco called out, the trigger word on the tip of his tongue. The group of thirteen was united in their purpose, wands drawn, ready for whatever awaited them at the other end of their journey. Draco took a deep breath and used his free hand to pull Hermione's scarf up over his nose. "Alright. Three…two….one…._MORSMORDRE!_"

The world around the young adults blurred, colours mixing together in a mélange of abstract beauty. When everything solidified once more, Draco heard Harry gasp beside him. The group was on the very edge of a grey, rocky cliff that jutted out into churning grey sea. Just as grey as the sea, the sky seemed to stretch endlessly without a hint of sunshine in sight. A few lone seagulls hovered overhead, their harsh cries barely carrying through the damp, cold air. Following the seagulls' haphazard path, the rescue group laid eyes on the Malfoy Castle; as colourless as the sky and ground surrounding it, the edifice towered above the land in all of its crumbling glory. Multiple turrets shot up into the sky, and the castle didn't have an exterior wall or moat – undoubtedly because magical wards were being used instead. A single, tattered pendent flew from the highest tower, the faded symbol of a hissing snake surrounded by thorny vines barely visible on the once-emerald-green background.

"You must've had a great childhood, growing up in places like this," Harry said dryly, not looking at Draco.

"Just peachy," Draco shot back, smirking. Turning to face the still-silent group, Draco pocketed his now-useless portkey. "Currently we're all standing just outside the wards. These are some of the most ancient, advanced wards in Europe, so I would recommend that –"

Draco was unable to finish his sentence as Hannah Abbot pushed past him. The normally quiet blonde gave Draco a smile. "Give me five minutes," she said seriously.

Unable to respond with anything coherent, Draco stepped back and gestured towards the invisible barrier that he knew was there. After his initial skepticism wore off Draco just watched her in awe, amazed at her precision and grace. The normally awkward girl walked up to the wards, holding her hand a hair's breadth away from the deadly barrier, her fingertips fluttering slightly. Deciding that that was where she needed to set up, Hannah began muttering complex incantations, waving her wand in a seemingly infinite pattern. The group collectively gasped as the wards came into focus, shimmering a sickly green. With a loud 'pop', the green material vanished, leaving free, ward-less air in its place…exactly five minutes after Hannah had begun her spell.

Neville was the only one who didn't look remotely surprised. Confronted by the shocked stares of eleven others, he merely shrugged. "You all knew that my Hannah was special," he said, pulling his beaming girlfriend in for a hug.

"Special is putting it lightly," Rolf said, watching as his assessment charm caused multiple glowing runes to appear in front of his face. "That was an extremely complex ward, over three thousand years old."

Now it was Hannah's turn to shrug, still happily curled up in Neville's arms. "Who knew?" she said innocently.

Practically bouncing up and down from the tension, Draco shot across the now harmless barrier. "Wait!" Lavender cried out, jogging after the Slytherin. "Don't we want to, you know, sneak in? We don't need to broadcast to Lucius that we're here, do we?"

"He knows," Draco ground out, running even faster. "It's just a matter of getting to him fast enough."

Everyone heard Draco's words and fell into a phalanx formation, running at the same pace towards the castle. It would have been an intimidating sight – thirteen wizards in full battle gear, wands drawn, faces set in determined expressions – but the most terrifying thing of all was Draco's magical energy, crackling off his skin in streaks of silver light.

Throwing the door open with his aura, Draco led the charge into the main room of the castle. At least two dozen Death Eaters stood in battle-ready positions, prepared to fight to the death to protect a cause that had died a year ago along with its leader. Spells began flying immediately, but Draco ignored the battle starting around him. Charging through the fray, he ran up the crumbling staircase of the East Tower towards where he knew Hermione must be.

Unfortunately, however, Lucius must've ordered Death Eaters to station themselves on the stairs; a group of three masked individuals stood together on a landing, wands outstretched, silent. Draco sighed, but launched himself forward nonetheless. Just as the first syllables of curses were passing the lips of the Death Eaters, two of them were down, felled by the poisonous knives in Draco's boots. The third one shouted out, "Sectumsempra!" and Draco reacted by instantly creating a reflective shield that sent the cutting curse back at its creator. Not even bothering to survey the bloody mess he had created, Draco bounded up the last flight of stairs.

Reaching the thick wooden door that had been his goal, Draco fell entirely silent as he undid the lock with a flick of his wrist. He still didn't want to touch the door, however, so he shouted out "Bombarda!" and immediately stepped into the room.

When the dust cleared, Draco's heart flew; "Hermione!" he called out, stepping towards the bound, gagged, and bloodied witch. "Hermione, I -" but the look in her eyes stopped him. Wide and pleading, they met Draco's eyes only to flick towards Draco's left.

Battle-honed reflexes coming in to play, the Slytherin threw up a shield that just barely managed to block the vicious cutting hex that flew through the air. A dark chuckle filled the cell, and Draco shuddered. "This place brings back so many good memories, doesn't it?" Lucius' voice was low and dark-sounding, but Draco still could not see his father.

"I wouldn't call them _good memories_," Draco said, his body wound tightly. "For me, at least, they were pretty horrible."

Strange laughter echoed off the crumbling stones. "As hard as I may have tried to break your rebellious spirit, it appears that I've failed. You've finally chosen your allegiance, boy."

Draco snapped "I did that long ago, Lucius," watching as Lucius Malfoy stepped between his son and the woman that his son loved. "You just decided to ignore my choice."

"Because it was the wrong choice," Lucius said quickly, his eyes narrowing. "You were supposed to pretend to side with the light, not fall for your own deception."

"It wasn't a deception!" Draco ground out, his shield flickering with silver energy.

Lucius laughed. "Stupid little dragon. You're quite the optimist, aren't you? You think the light side will accept you now?" Draco's shield faltered, and Lucius grinned. "Your soul is _tainted_, stained with a dark that you know exists within you. Look to your arm, if you doubt yourself" – here Lucius paused –"or, have you managed to hide your Mark behind your scars?"

Rage and sadness surged through Draco and his shield flickered again. A muffled shouting came from behind Lucius, and Draco could barely see Hermione shake her head, tears streaking down her face. Resolutely strengthening his defenses, Draco spun his wand in his fingertips. "The light will give me another chance, Lucius," he said acidly, his eyes boring into his father's. "It might take them a while, yes, but some of them have already started." Draco's eyes rested on Hermione before locking in on a startled Lucius. "I'm making an effort, unlike _you!_" he hissed.

"But this _is _my effort, dragon!" Lucius said, sweeping his arms out to indicate Hermione. "She's my route back into respectable society."

"Kidnapping?" Draco spat, pieces falling into place. "You expect to buy back your status by _kidnapping the Golden Girl_?"

Lucius shrugged. "Why not?" he said, laughing lightly.

It was at this point that Draco realized his father was no longer the man he had known. The Lucius Malfoy standing in front of him was not Lucius the Death Eater, Lucius the Power-Hungry-Politician, or even Lucius-the-Distant-Father; this was Lucius the Insane, fighting for a cause that no longer existed, his last modicum of sanity gone. "Father…." Draco said, pleading, trying to appeal to Lucius' last humanity if it hadn't already disappeared. When the elder Malfoy heard the word 'father' from his son's lips, his brow furrowed and Draco pounced on the opportunity. "Give her back," he said, looking into Lucius' confused eyes. "Just give Hermione to me, and we can work this out. We'll figure out something, we'll get you up on your feet. You just….you just need to give her back to me, Father. Please."

Attempting to show his father that he meant no harm, using the only gesture he had available to him, Draco lowered his shield and held out his free hand. As soon as he did so, he knew he'd made a mistake; Lucius' eyes cleared, and yellow light snapped out from his wand. Tendrils of light wrapped around Draco's hands and feet, rendering him immobile. Another muffled scream from the corner caused Draco to look at Hermione, his eyes sad and resigned. "I'm sorry," he whispered, watching tears run from the corner of her eyes. "I had to try."

"And that is why you are losing, Draco!" Lucius said triumphantly, levitating his son in the air. "Your compassion has turned out to be the end of you, just as I predicted." Flicking his wrist, Lucius sent out a strong cutting curse at his son. Draco held back a scream as the curse targeted clusters of nerves and sent white hot pain through his body.

"Foolish, foolish boy," Lucius said, obviously taking pleasure in watching his son's blood drip onto the gray – now crimson – stones of the ancient castle. "You should've listened to your father, you know." He hit Draco with another curse, this one specifically targeting Draco's shut eyelids and other sensitive areas of skin.

Chest heaving, vision clouded with blood, Draco stared at his father. Blue eyes met blue, and Draco knew in that moment that he was finished. "Good bye, Draco," Lucius said, his voice void of all compassion. "I wish it didn't have to be like this, but alas…"

Trailing off, Lucius sent Hermione a wicked smile. Almost nonchalantly, the older Malfoy said, "Avada Kedavra". Time seemed to slow as Draco watched the green light streak through the air towards him, and he closed his eyes. _I'm sorry Hermione_, he thought, and the world went dark.

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

Hermione watched the duel between Lucius and Draco unfold, unable to move thanks to Lucius' charm. She struggled against the bonds but made no headway, condemned to watch the man she loved fight for her life with his own. For one split second, Hermione saw them both, father and son, with all their weaknesses, strengths, similarities, and differences. They were mirror images of one another; blue eyes, blonde hair, chiseled features. However, the eyes were only superficially identical. Draco's eyes were open, honest, and caring, while Lucius' were hard, flinty, and narrowed. _Eyes are the window to the soul_, she thought, her gaze locked on the space between the two wizards, waiting for the first curse to be fired.

When Draco lowered his shield, Lucius' back muscles tensed and Hermione screamed; her warning was too late, however, and before she knew it her love's blood was dripping onto the hard stone of the castle. She watched as the red rivulets slipped under the ward Lucius had placed around her, pooling just by her hands. Reaching out tentatively with her fingertips, she winced as she felt the warm liquid coat her skin. "Good bye, Draco."

Hermione's head snapped up, and she saw that Lucius was smiling at her. "Avada Kedavra," he said, flicking his wrist lazily towards the defeated blonde. "No!" she shrieked, throwing off the silencing and bonding charm that had been placed upon her. Hermione felt an unknown emotion bubbling up inside her chest, and she could suddenly feel a hot globe of power right over her heart.

Instinctively, Hermione touched this heat with a tendril of her strong emotion. _Please_, she thought, _Draco can't die_.

With a third of the distance still to cover, the killing curse was stopped in its tracks. Lucius whirled around to see Hermione, his eyes growing wide at her expression and the silver magic crackling from her skin. Without saying a word, Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled, her magic pouring out of her. Had her eyes been open, she would have seen silver erupt from every pore of her being, the cell flooding with light and colour. She would have seen the green curse disappearing and Lucius turning into solid silver with a howl of fury, his face forever fixed in a mask of anger and madness. She would have seen Draco slump to the ground, unconscious but healed. She would have seen Neville, Harry, and Susan burst into the room, wands raised, flabbergasted at the scene before them. She would have seen Harry rush over to her side and frantically take her vitals. She would have seen him press a chaste kiss to her forehead, eyes red with unshed tears.

However, her eyes were not open. The doors to her soul were firmly shut.

_A/N: Hello, faithful readers! Thanks for your lovely reviews - they've encouraged me to finish this chapter much sooner than I had anticipated (my biology homework isn't so happy about it, but that's ok). :) Please continue to R&R, and I should have the next chapter up by December 16th hopefully. I'm considering doing a bonus chapter for Christmas, something like a flashback into Draco or Hermione's past Christmasses...any thoughts? :) _

_Happy holidays, and good luck with your holiday preparations everyone! :) ~sneakyslytherin_


	19. Rude Awakening

The first thing Draco felt was warmth. For the first time in what felt like years, Draco's toes, fingers, ears, and chest were filled with a glowing, vibrating warmth that made him feel sleepy and content. Opening his eyes slightly, he was immediately assaulted by the white-washed walls and medical portraits of the hospital wing. It was so warm and lovely though, and -

_Hospital wing?_ he thought with a start, his eyes opening fully. Performing his own quick self-assessment, Draco determined that there was nothing really wrong with him other than a lingering headache and some bruises. _Then why am I here? _he wondered, his eyes drifting to the empty chairs by his bedside, one of them loaded with his personal effects. Draco's eyes immediately locked on a tacky, green, fraying scarf with the words "Harrods'" embroidered on the edge in tattered gold thread. "Hermione!" he said aloud, the events of his last waking hours flooding back to him.

_But…I can't be dead! _he thought, very confused. _And if I'm not, wouldn't Hermione be here? Unless….Merlin…._

Shooting out of bed like a man possessed, Draco threw back the curtains between his bed and the main room. He spotted Madame Pomfrey tottering around the potions cupboard and he cleared the distance between them in a few long strides. The mediwitch seemed surprised to see him, and could only get out, "Why Mister Malfoy, you shouldn't be -" before Draco interrupted.

"Where's Hermione?" he said sharply, putting his hand on the shoulder of the much-shorter witch, keeping her in place.

Madame Pomfrey's face grew grey. "Mister Malfoy, I would not recommend -"

"Is she here?" The witch's lack of comment was his answer. "Take me to her," he ground out, clenching his jaw. "Please."

The mediwitch appeared both flustered and irritated as she led Draco past the rows of occupied beds and into her office. Looking at his confused expression, she raised one eyebrow. "We have a solitary area for the…more unique conditions," she supplied, waving her wand over a painting of a very pompous looking hippopotamus. Draco's stomach disappeared. The wall in front of them melted into the surrounding air, and the witch motioned for Draco to enter. Hesitantly, the Slytherin was about to go into the room when the mediwitch placed her hand on his chest.

"Please remain quiet Mister Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey whispered. "We don't know how stable her condition is."

Draco nodded, tendrils of fear wrapping around his heart and squeezing. Giving the mediwitch a final firm face, he turned into the dimly lit room. What he saw made his head reel; Hermione was lying in bed, her skin so white it was nearly transparent, the sheets stained with large patches of blood. Her breathing was labored, and with each wheezing breath she took Draco felt his heart split a little more. It was obvious that someone had attempted to care for her; her hair was washed and combed, and she was in a blood-stained but new-looking hospital gown.

Rage replacing Draco's sorrow, he turned to the mediwitch. "Why haven't you healed her?" he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "If you haven't noticed, she's still bleeding as much as when we rescued her from that cell."

Madame Pomfrey's lips set into a thin, straight line. "If you're going to question my practices, I recommend that _you _try healing her Mister Malfoy," she said sharply, her whisper tight with emotion.

Nodding and walking forcefully to the bed, Draco made himself take a deep breath as he looked down at Hermione. He gingerly lifted her hand to his lips, running his finger over a large gash on her arm. Grinning, Draco watched as the skin knit itself together, his healing charm appearing to take effect. Just as he was about to turn to Madame Pomfrey, triumphant where she had failed, Draco watched as Hermione's skin ripped back open, fresh blood seeping from the wound. Shocked, Draco tried to heal the cut again, only to watch as it re-opened once more.

A cool hand on his arm stopped him. "They all behave like that," Madame Pomfrey said softly. "Her body is rejecting the magic."

"What happened to her?" Draco croaked, placing Hermione's hand lightly above the sheets. "Can we help her? We have to stop the bleeding, or -"

"I know," Madame Pomfrey interrupted gently. "We're trying dear, we really are. At the moment we've been giving her blood-replenishing potions every six hours. She's been like this for four days, and -"

"Four days!?" Malfoy exclaimed, a bit too loudly. "I've been asleep for _four days_?"

"Your body has been recovering from massive magical shock, Mister Malfoy," the mediwitch supplied, frowning. Draco's confused look caused her to shake her head. "You don't know what happened, do you?"

"No," Draco said quietly. "All I remember is the green light…and then nothing."

Madame Pomfrey sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Hermione accidentally used something called Earth Magic to save you." She looked up, but Draco hadn't reacted to her use of the ancient term. "As far as we can tell, she stopped the Avada Kedavra and killed Lucius within the space of a few moments. Judging by the blood on the floor, you had been tortured severely; yet, when Mister Potter, Mister Longbottom, and Miss Bones found you, you appeared to be in perfect health."

Draco's world spun as the enormity of the mediwitch's words hit him. "Earth Magic?" he said, breathlessly. "She used Earth Magic?"

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "She's a very powerful girl."

"So, she'll come out of this….phase, right?" Malfoy asked, panic building. "She'll recover naturally?"

The mediwitch refused to meet his eyes. "Hopefully."

"…what are you not telling me?" Draco's heart attempted to jump through his ribcage.

Madame Pomfrey remained silent, fiddling with the edge of her apron. "I think we don't need to talk about this right now, Mister Malfoy," she said, "You _should _be in bed -"

"He needs to know!" a strong voice called out from behind them, and Draco turned to see Harry standing at the doorway of the room.

The Boy-Who-Lived looked like he'd just been hit by a bus; his was skin pale and splotchy, eyes red-rimmed and blurry, and his hair even more out-of-control than usual. "What do I need to know?" Draco asked, walking towards the disheveled mess in the doorway.

"Hermione's in a magical coma," Harry said flatly, emotionless. "She put all of her life force and magical core into saving you Draco; she has nothing left to sustain her own life." His face remained neutral as he delivered this horrifying news. All that Draco could see in the boy's dark eyes was the reflection of the torchlight, orange flames flickering in his empty pupils. "No one ever comes out of magical comas, and if they do they're never _themselves_ – their mind is twisted, crazy. Most of them end up dying within a few weeks of regaining consciousness."

Draco felt the weight of the world crash down on him. Harry had just announced that the woman he loved was breathing, living, right in front of him, but would most likely never wake up again and would definitely never be herself again. "…Hermione?" he croaked, barely able to speak.

Harry nodded, obviously at a point beyond tears. "There's not much we can do for her right now. Come with me Draco, the rescue team's been waiting in the Room of Requirement for the past few days -"

"No!" Draco snarled, pushing away the hand that Harry placed on his forearm. "You're giving up on her!"

Harry's sad, brown eyes offered no evidence to the contrary, and it incensed Draco even further.

"I will not leave her now! She'll come through this!" he shouted, tears building in his eyes. Draco refused to register the sad, shocked expressions on Madame Pomfrey and Harry's faces, choosing instead to look down at Hermione and brush a his hand tenderly against her cheek. "I can't leave you now," he whispered. "Now you need me. You can't leave me, Hermione. You can't."

Sitting down on the hard metal chair beside her bed, Draco clasped Hermione's hand gently between his. Draco heard Madame Pomfrey whisper something, then shuffle out into the infirmary. Harry's quiet voice echoed throughout the small private room. "Draco, please come with me. Everyone's anxious to see you…"

"So that they can blame me?" Draco spat, closing his eyes. "So that they can all look at me and say '_It _is here instead of Hermione, _it _is the reason why she's not with us'? I think not, Potter."

Spitting the last word with emphatic venom, Malfoy realized his cutting comment had struck home. Out of the corner of his eye Draco saw Harry stiffen, then turn on his heel. Suddenly, the dark-haired boy froze. "I love her too, you know," he said quietly. "I don't want to let her go, but….it's inevitable, Draco. Please. Come join us."

Draco used his silence as an answer, staring meaningfully at Hermione's neutral, pale face. He listened to the soft sound of Harry's footsteps fading away and the hidden wall sliding into place. Draco knew then that he was finally alone with Hermione. "My place is here," the blonde said quietly. "by your side. You promised me that you'd never leave me, now I'm not leaving you." His words built up in his throat, choking him with his inability to articulate this strange, swelling feeling in his chest. "Please, stay with me Hermione."

Tears filling his eyes once again, Draco let them fall. Water droplets sat on the back of Hermione and his hands like clear pearls, unmoving, refracting light in a mesmerizing and melancholy way. Draco tentatively touched the edge of his tear with his fingertip, feeling Hermione's wax-like skin beneath his. Gathering his courage, Draco looked once more to Hermione's battered face, evidence of his father's brutality and madness. _Lucius is dead, Madame Pomfrey said so…. _but this thought failed to comfort Draco. _Is it worth it at this price? _he wondered bitterly, surveying the broken girl before him. Draco already knew the answer to that.

Still holding Hermione's cold, still hand, Draco leaned in and pressed a kiss to an undamaged area of her forehead. Lips touching her skin, he murmured "Stay with me."

Wordlessly sending out an incantation, Draco extended the hospital bed so that it would fit more than one person. The blonde cautiously slipped himself onto the bed, sliding beside Hermione. Nestling her head onto his shoulder, ignoring the blood that was undeniably sinking into his clothes, Draco rested his arm underneath Hermione's head and began stroking her hair. Eyes open, staring at the blank ceiling, Draco wondered whether it would ever be possible for him to leave this bed without her.

_A/N: On time! (Barely...) Sorry that this chapter's a bit short, but I really wanted to split up this part and the next bit. All shall be explained soon! Expect the next installment of "Fresh Start" by next Sunday (December 23rd), hopefully it'll be on time. _

_Please R your lovely, thoughtful reviews are the best Christmas presents that I could ever get. :) :) Merry Christmas! ~sneakyslytherin_


	20. One Sided Conversations

Ginny looked sadly up at Harry, her heart aching for the mess that her boyfriend had become after their rescue mission in Ireland. It was obvious that he had gone through pains to _try _to appear somewhat normal, and had maybe even run a comb through his always-mussed hair; however, it really wasn't working. His green eyes were sad and distant, and the skin underneath them seemed permanently stained grey. Normally unruly in a fluffy, springy way, Harry's hair now hung uncooperatively limp on either side of his face. His shoulders were slumped, and his arms lay motionless by his side as he walked. Ginny respected Harry's need for silence, but that didn't mean that she didn't feel the oppressive crush of melancholy that had descended on the entire castle.

It didn't seem as though Harry was really focused on where he was walking – it was as if he was on autopilot, set to walk to and from class or to and from the hospital wing. Ginny had been to see Hermione frequently, but she found the sight of her pale, unmoving friend chillingly disturbing. Harry, on the other hand, had been almost every day without fail. No matter how busy he was with school work or midterm preparations, he always spent at least ten minutes a day in the hospital wing with his friend. Today, though, Ginny was going with him. In her mind she was acting as his emotional crutch, something for Harry to lean on when things got too hard.

Finally, the silent pair arrived at the large wooden doors to the hospital wing. "_Concelior_," Harry murmured, casting a concealment-charm on both him and his girlfriend. It still unnerved Ginny that no one outside of the rescue team could know that Hermione was in the hospital wing – in theory it was a danger to the young witch if anyone knew her vulnerable state, but Ginny genuinely didn't understand. _If Lucius is dead, who could pose a threat? _

The hospital wing seemed far more gloomy now that winter had really set in and snow seemed to be falling constantly. As hard as the sun tried, it couldn't shine through the thick cloud-layer and grace the students with its yellow light. Madame Pomfrey had attempted to liven up the sick ward by hanging garland and other holiday decorations, but the thoughtful gesture had been mostly ineffective; the world still seemed like a washed-out Polaroid, two-dimensional and blurry.

It was only then that Ginny noticed Harry hadn't followed her into the hospital wing. She could see him standing stock still in the hallway, his eyes wide, his breathing rapid and erratic. Quickly walking back to his side, Ginny rested her hand over his heart. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly, placing her other hand on his cheek, gently pleading with him to look at her. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Ginny felt a warm tear run by her hand, and when Harry looked down his green eyes were misty. "She's been like this for two months Ginny," he croaked, barely able to form the words. "There's been no change in her condition, and" – his voice faltered – "and I don't know if there will be. I don't know…I don't know how long we can pretend, Gin."

Harry rested his head on Ginny's shoulder, sobs wracking his too-thin frame. Carding her fingers through his hair, Ginny composed herself while he couldn't see her. It surprised her that this break-down had been so long in coming; every day when he returned from seeing Hermione, his eyes were troubled and he couldn't concentrate. "It's all going to be ok Harry," she whispered, lightly kissing his temple. "We can't give up now, not after so long -"

"But how much longer do we have to do this?" he asked, raising his head. "Every day, seeing her kills me a little bit more, and every single day I wish that she hadn't jumped in front of me, that it was me lying where she was, that she could be awake, with Draco, that…."

Harry trailed off, running out of words. "I understand," Ginny said softly, holding Harry's hands between hers. "We'll talk to Madame Pomfrey after the holidays, alright? Right now…well, right now everyone needs a little hope, right?"

Her boyfriend nodded stiffly, and she brushed away the last of his tears from under his eyes. As she watched, Harry placed his 'Everything's Fine' mask over his features, rounding out his sharp expression and plastering a semblance of a smile on his face. Ginny shuddered – every time Harry did that, it made her feel sick on his behalf. "Shall we?" he asked her, extending his arm.

Ginny nodded, wrapping her arm around his and leaning her head on his shoulder. At a point beyond words, she placed a soft kiss on his neck. The two walked unnoticed through the primary ward, slipping past Madame Pomfrey's office door and opening the Hippopotamus portrait.

It was no surprise to the couple that Draco was already there, sitting in his customary chair right beside Hermione. For the first few days after their return Draco had spent his days lying in bed beside her, disregarding all visitors and disruptions. Something had happened, however, that inspired him to get out of bed and resume his classes. Everyone – Ginny included – thought that Draco would be an emotional wreck, and was entirely prepared to offer the Slytherin the comfort that he would need. Draco had challenged all their assumptions by showing up for Transfiguration clean, composed, and seemingly more emotionally stable than his year-mates. A baffled Professor McGonagall approved Draco's perfect answers in class, and the stunned students attempted to mimic the Malfoy's calm demeanor.

As soon as class ended, Harry had planned to approach Malfoy and welcome him back to class. However, the bell had rung for lunch break and Draco had shot out of the class like a rocket. Concerned, Harry had run after the blonde; later he told Ginny that Draco had made a beeline from Transfiguration to the hospital wing and had sat by Hermione's side all lunch hour. He had barely touched the food that house elves had supplied.

This pattern had continued, with Draco spending every spare moment out of class by Hermione side. He'd be reading his textbooks next to her, doing his homework, eating by her side, making notes about the latest teacher's assistant potions plan, or – more often than not – just sitting by her side in silence, holding her hand. If anyone came in and tried to talk to Draco the blonde would smile and reply, but only monosyllabically. He made it clear through his words and actions that he wanted to spend time alone with Hermione.

A few nights ago Harry had voiced a theory about Draco to Ginny; as Hermione's wounds hadn't yet healed and were still not responding to magical influences, the witch was essentially living off of blood replenishing potions. Harry had initially been concerned that the hospital wing would run out of the supplement, but had discovered that Madame Pomfrey was receiving regular deliveries of the potion. When Harry asked her about her source, she had claimed that she was ordering them by owl - everyone knew that this could _not _be true, as the mediwitch would never stoop so low as to use mail order potions. Slughorn, Harry speculated, still didn't know about Hermione and therefore wouldn't know to brew the potion, and as accomplished of a mediwitch she was, Madame Pomfrey was no Potions Master….so, Harry reasoned that Draco must be brewing the blood-replenisher. When Ginny remarked that no still-functioning human being could brew that much potion, study for exams, and stay awake in classes, Harry had shrugged and stated, "Well then who else could it be?" This had stumped Ginny, and she still hadn't come up with a satisfactory answer.

She suggested that Harry just ask Draco about it, however her boyfriend immediately vetoed that idea. Apparently, Harry and Draco had reached an accord of sorts; whenever Harry would come and visit Hermione, neither one would speak. Harry would go sit on Hermione's left side, opposite of Draco, and neither boy would break the silence. Eventually Harry would leave and Draco would continue his vigil, the world as it should be.

This visit started out no different. Ginny and Harry sat on Hermione's left, Draco staying on her right, no one talking at first. After a few minutes of this silent guardianship, however, Ginny began to get fidgety, playing with her hair and her sweater sleeve, her eyes flickering all over the room to avoid looking at Hermione's all-too-pale figure. Living in a house with eight other – usually very loud – people had left Ginny somewhat unaccustomed to and unnerved by silence. Her eyes resting on Harry's bedraggled form and Draco's mask of composure, something inside of her clicked into place.

"Hello Hermione," she said, her voice shattering the silence like a pick through ice. Both Draco and Harry's heads snapped towards her, their eyes finally leaving the sickbed. Ignoring the boys' startled reactions, Ginny continued; "It's really lovely outside right now – there's so much snow! Christmas is right around the corner, so Hagrid brought in the trees, and Flitwick and McGonagall decorated everything so beautifully. All the eighth-years helped, of course, except for Seamus because his _wingardium leviosa _tends to end in a rather fiery display." Continuing her meaningless tirade, Ginny looked at the boys. Harry, never one for concealing his emotions, was showing his confusion, anger, and indecision by furrowing his brow and opening and closing his mouth. Draco, on the other hand, had merely raised one of his eyebrows. _Am I hallucinating, or is that….is he __**smirking**__?_

"Oh, and you'll never guess what I got Ron for Christmas!" Ginny continued, still uninterrupted. "I was absolutely desperate for something to give him, and I found the most brilliant collector Chudley Cannons quill in this ratty little shop off of Diagon – before you get to Knockturn, mind you, but definitely not on Diagon – and it flashes the Cannon colours and makes these wonderful explosion noises when you dot your I's…."

Just as Ginny was about to descend once more into silence, Draco jumped up from his seat. "Keep talking!" he shouted, his eyes wide. "Ginny, keep talking to Hermione!"

"Umm…what about?" Ginny was genuinely confused.

"Anything!" he shouted, running a hand through his hair. "Christmas, happy things. _Talk_!"

"Erm…well, as I said earlier, everything's all dressed up for Christmas. We all decorated the dorm, hanging different wreaths on everyone's doors. Yes, I know, technically I'm not supposed to be _in _the dorm, but the teachers made an exception, this once. Luna picked a bright pink wreath for your door, complete with some fantastical imaginary infestation I'm sure….I think it was hurfflepfeffers?" Ginny looked desperately at Harry, neither of them really knowing what to do about Draco's sudden tense behavior.

When Ginny fell silent, Harry attempted to jump in before Draco could bite her head off. "And, uh, don't forget about the mistletoe this year – Dean enchanted it so that it follows its victims around until they -"

A loud shout silenced Harry, and he and Ginny were stunned beyond words as Draco seemed to collapse into his chair, still holding Hermione's hand. "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you," he was murmuring, holding Hermione's hand and running a finger down her pale cheek. A tear from the blonde's eye fell onto Hermione's never-healing wounds, mixing with the blood, making Ginny feel sick.

"Draco?" Harry said quietly. "Uh, Draco, what is it?" The Slytherin didn't seem to have heard Harry, so he tried again. "Draco?" Nothing. "Malfoy?" Still nothing. "OI! DRACO! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL JUST HAPPENED?!"

Ginny jumped as her boyfriend's shout echoed around the room. It appeared to have served its purpose, however, as Draco finally turned to face the couple, brushing tears from his face. To their astonishment, he was smiling. "She moved," he whispered. "Hermione moved."

Without saying another word, Draco grabbed Ginny's hand and pulled her around the sickbed onto his side. Giving the younger girl an encouraging smile, the Slytherin wrapped her calloused hand around Hermione's pale, fragile one. "Talk," he whispered. "Please."

Ginny swallowed nervously, Harry's encouraging expression motivating her to go on. "Um, hi Hermione," she started, hesitant. "Um, I just thought you should know that, uh, Mum knitted you one of her Christmas sweaters anyways. I told her -" Ginny paused to recollect her emotions. She took a deep breath. "-I told her that you probably wouldn't be able to wear it, but she said that it didn't matter. She still knits sweaters for Fred, did you know? In her mind, there's nowhere that a sweater can't go, and no one that can't wear a sweater. And even though you and Ron broke up you're still family in her eyes, really, I mean, we all love you so mu– oh Merlin…"

Words freezing in her throat, Ginny's heart soared as she felt Hermione's hand twitch under hers. The red haired girl looked up at her boyfriend, happy tears filling her eyes. "She moved," she whispered, the two words filled with emotion.

A weight settled over Ginny's hand, and she realized that Draco had rested his hand overtop of hers and Hermione's. "She's still in there," the blonde said softly, a smile still hovering on his lips. "Hermione's still here."

A third hand rested atop Hermione's pale, near-bloodless hand, and Ginny noticed that Harry was now sitting beside them. He turned to Ginny and smiled, the worry lines seeming to melt from his face, his green eyes regaining some of their lost sparkle. "Everyone needs a little hope, right?" he said, resting his other hand on Ginny's cheek. She nodded, and for the first time in months it felt as though the world could potentially be a happy place again.

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

It was a while before Ginny and Harry left, but Draco didn't mind. They all spent time talking to Hermione, noting when she moved and also noting when she didn't, choosing to pay far more attention to the positive responses from the comatose witch.

As soon as the – not happy, per se, just happier – couple left, Draco resumed his favoured position lying in the bed at Hermione's side. He had set up multiple wards at the entrance to Hermione's sick room so that he could tell when a guest was coming, and that way could slip off the bed and into the nearby chair before anyone was the wiser. Whatever anyone might say, Draco was a very private young man.

Resting his nose lightly on her cheek, Draco breathed in Hermione's vanilla-parchment scent, ignoring the copper undertones from the never-healing wounds. His next batch of blood replenisher was almost ready, so he knew that he'd have to leave her side shortly. _But not right now, _he thought stubbornly. _We have right now…._

"Hello Hermione," he whispered, his lips moving against a small patch of unharmed skin. "It's me, Draco. While we're in the mood for talking – well, you're not really in the mood, but you know what I mean – I just…I just thought that I'd say that….I think I love you, Hermione."

Draco took a deep breath.

"I didn't realize it for a while, honestly. I mean, I cared about you, deeply, don't get me wrong, but 'love' isn't a word that you just throw around, you know? But I….I don't feel like I'm throwing it around with you. I think that I really love you Hermione.

"It's the little things that made me realize it. Like, how I can't imagine walking outside in the snow without you, your hair shoved under some hat that you knitted, your Harrods' scarf wrapped around your neck, nose red, cheeks red, gloved hand in mine….or how there's this giant hole beside me everywhere I go; when I'm sitting in the library, in bed, in class, teaching – you're missing, and I can feel it through my whole soul."

Draco closed his eyes. "I just…I never knew how I'd know who my soul mate was, but…now I do. My soul mate is the most stubborn, beautiful, strong, intelligent, wonderful witch that's ever walked the earth, and I can't go on without her.

"Hermione Granger, you _have _to wake up. Without you, my life is…it's empty, really. I can't picture my future without you in it, and we could do so much together, I…..Hermione, remember that day back in the library? You promised that you wouldn't leave me, and I am holding you to your promise. Please, _please _come back to me, Hermione. I love you."

Underneath Draco's still hand, Hermione's fingers twitched.

_A/N: Happy holidays everyone! Please R&R, it feeds the muse! _


	21. The Journey Home

Hermione had decided that death was beautiful. It was as if someone had dropped her into outer space, into cool darkness punctuated by starlight and swirling galaxies. It was an incomplete blackness, making Hermione feel relaxed in her surroundings. Weightless, she floated through the immaterial darkness aimlessly, not able to control where she went and – honestly – not really caring. Hermione knew who she was and what she was, and therefore knew that having transparent skin and floating around in space was abnormal. However, there was something….something hovering at the edges of her consciousness…..a dark something, a something filled with responsibility and melancholy…..so, Hermione ignored it.

She felt off-kilter at times, as if her hands were idol, empty, as if she needed something to hold. _A book, _her mind supplied. _Or, maybe another hand?_

Hermione's head hurt. She had no idea where that last thought had come from, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the answer was contained in the inky blackness at the corners of her consciousness. But the blackness was unpleasant, and she didn't like having to deal with unpleasantness. _No, _she thought forcefully, pushing the dark thoughts away and focusing on her starlit universe. _This floating is wonderful._

Hermione had no sense of time in her physical state, so she could not say how long she was floating before she started hearing voices. It started out very quiet, just one word; "Hermione".

_My name, _she thought. _What's saying my name?_

In her mind Hermione got the briefest flash of an image; a pair of pale, dry lips mouthing her name, the sound coming out in a wonderful whisper that sent shivers up her spine. This sensation caused Hermione's heart to flutter in her chest, her breathing becoming slightly erratic. Her head tilted – she had felt this way before. Almost painfully pushing away her nonchalant and peaceful state of mind, Hermione listened harder. She was nearly convinced that the word had been an auditory imagining when she heard a second name, said by the same voice: "Ron."

A memory stirred, painful and black, growling in her sub consciousness. _I know Ron,_ she thought, wincing. _Ron…_

Like a black tidal wave, images crashed painfully against the walls of Hermione's skull.

She saw a freckled, red-headed boy, no older than eleven with dirt on his nose.

She saw the same boy, a little older, bandaged and hugging her in the middle of a brightly lit hallway filled with noise and light.

The boy on a bed, a cast around his leg.

His hair much longer now, the same boy sitting beside her in the stands for an outdoor event.

Casting spells against her in a mirrored room.

Flying on a broom, his face bright, circling the pitch in victory.

The boy – now a young man – standing outside of a tent yelling at her, tears filling her eyes as her very soul was torn apart.

She and the young man standing together in a dark chamber, looking into each other's' eyes, leaning in, lips touching…

The young man shouting again, his face red, but this time she wasn't crying; she had her suitcase in her hand, and was walking out the door.

_Ron._

Hermione's mind was reeling from the sudden influx of memories, each one more confusing than the last. Faces and places were blurred out, the only thing clear to her was the red-headed man and herself. _Ron_, she thought. _Not just the red-headed man. This is Ron, my friend. We were….were we at school together? Where are all these memories coming from?_

Always needing to know everything, Hermione's brain was shrieking in distress. Blank patches and uncertainties hovered on the edges of her mind, frustrating her to no end. Her consciousness clawed furiously at the hazy memories, trying unsuccessfully to pull images in to fill the voids. The blackness seemed to laugh, the sound echoing eerily around her strangely empty mind.

Amidst her struggles, another word rang clear through the strange laughter and the sounds of her frustration; this one was from a different voice, but Hermione heard the word perfectly.

_Luna._

Another set of images bombarded her, filled with flashes of blonde and radishes and converse sneakers that had no place in the wizarding world. Some of the greyed faces and places filled in, Luna Lovegood's beaming smile adding a wonderful light to Hermione's memories. Feeling whiplashed but determined, Hermione organized her new thoughts and allowed the blackness to press in slightly on her consciousness. _You want to do it this way? _she challenged it. _Fine, we'll do it this way._

"Dean."

"Harry."

"Fred."

"Molly."

"Seamus."

"McGonagall."

"Ginny."

"Lavender."

"Neville."

"Slughorn."

Slowly and painstakingly, Hermione's thoughts became detailed; grey, blurry faces were replaced with clear images, full conversations and events came back to her, emotion filling in some of the gaps. By the time the flow of words was slowing down, there was a very small pool of blackness left in the back of Hermione's mind. Snarling and snapping at her, the monster seemed to be filled with unhappiness and discord. Looking down, Hermione noticed that she was no longer so transparent and carefree; instead, her skin was pale and clearly three-dimensional, her arms littered with cuts and bruises. Flashes of pain seared through her mind, but she gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Bracing herself, Hermione was reaching forward to pull the dark thought-creature into the forefront of her mind when suddenly another word came flashing through space, this one causing a veritable hurricane of images, smells, and memories: "Draco".

With this one word, Hermione froze. Blackness pressed in on her like a wave, causing her to bite through her lip and taste coppery blood.

A young, greasy blonde extending his hand to the scruffy black-haired boy – _Harry_, Hermione corrected herself.

The same boy calling her a mublood, his hatred obvious in his slate-grey eyes, Hermione feeling the words cut into her like a knife.

Out by Hagrid's hut, Hermione felt rage flood her body as she punched the blonde boy in the face. She smiled as she saw the astonishment and fear in his eyes.

Glares shot across a full classroom as Hermione tried to transfigure Draco's hurtful "Potter Stinks" badge into a bouquet of pink flowers. When she succeeded, Draco turned to glare at her and incinerated the plants with a muttered charm.

Draco wearing a gleaming "Inquisitorial Squad" badge, grinning maliciously at Hermione in particular as the entire DA stood in front of Umbridge and her minions. Hermione raised an eyebrow and intensified her glare, feeling her anger bubbling up within her, wanting to smash her fist into that blonde head again.

Looking as if he'd aged a hundred years, Draco walked into an empty classroom. Hermione followed him, closing the door behind her. He whirled around, his eyes bloodshot, hair lanky, skin paler than usual, and not speaking a word, Hermione pressed a vial of Pepper-Up Potion into the blonde's hand. Draco attempted to muster a sneer, spitting out, "What's this, mudblood?"

Hermione shrugged. "You don't have to take it, Draco," she said. "But it'll help you get through this OWL and survive. I saw how tired you've been all year, and I don't know why. Maybe it's to do with your father being arrested – I don't know, and frankly I don't care. But I don't want to be the only one in Snape's Advanced Potions NEWT class next year, so I'd advise you to take it."

She turned to go, not looking at Draco's reaction or to see whether or not he pocketed the vial. "Granger," he called out, and she stopped, still not turning around. "….don't expect me to thank you."

Hermione smiled, knowing that from a Malfoy that was as close to a thank-you as one was ever likely to get.

The first thing Hermione felt was scorching heat, and she knew that she was back in the Room of Requirement fighting for her life. Flying by a pile of rubble, Hermione saw Draco scrambling to stay above the fiendfyre. His eyes were wide with panic, his skin glistening with sweat. "Hermione!" he called out as she came close. "Please," he said, barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Making a split-second decision, she reached for his hand…but her sweaty fingers and his sweaty fingers couldn't quite grasp one another, and he slipped out of her grip. Her heart seemed to fall from her chest as she watched Draco's eyes go dull, only to widen with shock as Harry swooped by and grabbed the blonde by the waist.

Coming face-to-face with him on the quidditch pitch, battling her mistrust.

Seeing the words on his door.

Tears in his eyes.

The moment where she felt her chest flip when she looked at Draco and knew she had fallen for him.

Horrible thick scars running up and down his arms, wiped away by her tender kisses and tears.

His fingers laced with hers, fitting perfectly together as if they were meant to meet.

Her head on his shoulder.

His smile.

Beautiful grey eyes laced with hurt but overwhelmed with the desire to love.

His smell, a mix of oak and spices and warm summer days trapped inside of his skin.

Whispered promises in the library.

Defeat clouding the beautiful sky-grey eyes, a flash of green light splitting the air.

The feeling of his lips sliding over hers, completing both of them.

_Draco._

When Hermione fully regained consciousness, her head was spinning and her heart was beating out of control. _I have to get back_, she thought, panicked. _I can't leave him, I can't I can't I can't I can't…._

Panicked, Hermione began flailing her arms to move in the now-oppressive darkness. Sharp pain shot from her collarbone, leg, and head all through her body, but she fought through it. Tears streaked down her now entirely-substantial, bloodied cheeks, but Hermione Granger was not broken that easily. She had a backbone made of steel and a heart made of gold, and in her mind a little bit of blood had never killed anyone. Sending her last shots of energy into every fiber of her being, Hermione pushed herself a fraction of a millimeter through the dense space surrounding her. She had only managed to move a few inches.

Hermione sagged, her small stash of energy fruitlessly wasted. _If I had my wand this would be so much easier, _she said, trying to keep her thoughts together. Just _being _in the strange space made her head light, encouraging her just-collected memories to diffract and scatter uselessly. She felt this odd pull to let it all go, send them scattering off into the blackness around her…. _No! _she said firmly, squeezing her thoughts into a tight ball. _I refuse to part with these! _

Now it was the darkness around her that formed into a dark, growling creature with glowing white-hot eyes that bored into Hermione's mind. Made out of blackness punctuated by stars, this monster had formed from the very air around her. "Give in, girl," the dark creature hissed, the words echoing in the endless space around her. Hermione's eyes grew wide, her soul chilled to the very core. "Fleshy ones are never meant to stay here," it continued, its voice sounding like breaking china and howling wind. "Become a Transparent once again and you may remain."

"But I don't _want _to remain!" Hermione said, her voice sounding raw and unused. "I have to get back!"

"Fleshy ones can never return," the creature spat, a cool gust of damp-smelling wind whirling around Hermione's face. "Fleshy ones become Transparents, then fleshy ones disappear. It is the way of thingsssssss."

"Well I don't like the way of things," Hermione said stubbornly, watching as the creature's white eyes narrowed. "I plan on returning to the ones I love, and I will take as long as I bloody have to but I will get there."

The dark creature shrieked, a horrible high-pitched noise that curdled Hermione's blood and caused her to curl in on herself. "Witch is making mistake," the thing hissed. "Did you not like the peace and quiet of my plain? The relaxation? The lack of responsibility?"

Hermione felt her mind straying to her floating sensation, entirely at ease with the world around her, nothing but blissful darkness…._No! _she thought forcefully, recollecting her scattered thoughts. Glaring at the creature, Hermione set her lips into a frown. "I am going past you," she said darkly, "and I am returning home to see the ones I love."

A strange keening sound filled the space, and it took Hermione a minute to realize that the thing was _laughing_. "Good luck, witch," the monster laughed. "You shall need it….there is always a price, no matter what."

And with that, the creature once more dissolved into the inky blackness surrounding Hermione. She shuddered, thinking that she was basically swimming _through _that thing to move. Drawing upon the last of her energy and using all of her determination, Hermione pushed herself forwards and into the darkness.

After a few strokes, however, her new-found energy seemed to disappear. _Apparently being dead does not agree with me, _Hermione thought bitterly, stretching her still-bleeding limbs. _I have to keep going, though! Somehow…._

Just then, sound filled the darkness. At first Hermione believed that it was the creature speaking to her once again, back to mock her for her futile attempt, but the voice was wrong….too soft….Hermione listened hard, focusing so as to hear what it was actually saying.

"….I think I love you, Hermione."

An electric tingle zipped up Hermione's spine, and she could feel blood once again flowing down into her fingertips and invigorating her brain. _Draco! _

Pushing forward, using Draco's voice as an energy source, Hermione kept listening.

"….I cared about you, deeply…."

Her heart fluttering, she gained another few inches.

"….little things that made me realize it…."

-another bit of darkness behind her-

"…you're missing, and I can feel it through my whole soul…."

-a pang of loss and love, as well as another small distance-

"…..soul mate….."

-fireworks in her stomach-

"…..can't go on without her….."

-at least six inches-

"….Hermione Granger, you _have _to wake up…."

-a spurt of energy resulting in a surprisingly large distance-

"…you promised you wouldn't leave me…."

-had she ever had this much energy?-

"….please come back to me Hermione. I love you."

With a crow of triumph, Hermione launched herself forward, spinning further into space. Her motion slowed, however, and she came to rest just in front of a glowing star. From a distance Hermione had disregarded this as just another feature in this strange amorphous landscape, but up close she could see that it was different; rather than glow the hot-white of the monster's eyes – like the rest of the stars – this one pulsed a distinct silver. This star felt…similar somehow. As if Hermione recognized it from somewhere. _Oh, but that's silly! _she scoffed. _There's no way I'd know any silver stars, I mean honestly….wait a moment….._

Reaching out tentatively, her pulse sounding like a bass drum inside of her ears, Hermione lightly rested a fingertip on top of the star. It was cool to the touch, but she immediately felt a familiar electrical charge shoot through her battered body. A wonderful warm feeling flowed through to Hermione's toes, making her smile as a part of her she didn't really realize was empty filled. "That's my magic," she whispered softly, in awe of the small, glowing sphere. "This…this must be my magical core."

Hermione gingerly cradled the precious light in her cupped palms, admiring the silver star. Suddenly, a nearly transparent hand ghosted over the light. "Pretty," a hollow voice said. "Very pretty."

Hermione's neck snapped up, and she reeled backwards. There, just in front of her, was a barely-visible apparition of Sirius Black. His eyes were haunted, hair matted beyond belief, cheeks sunken in, dead looking. This was just like her nightmares, only there was no veil at the Ministry of Magic separating them. He was right in front of her. "S…Sirius?" Hermione whispered, the word choking her.

Sirius cocked his head. "Is that my name?" he asked softly.

Nodding, Hermione pushed back the feeling of nausea in her chest. "Yes," she affirmed. "Sirius Black."

A flash of something passed behind Black's eyes, and his face grew tense. "Did you know me?" he asked, struggling to get the question out.

Again, Hermione nodded. "Decently well. You were a very good man, Sirius – a tad rambunctious and headstrong at times, but your soul was beautiful. You died too soon, and your…your godson….he misses you."

Hermione reached up to brush a tear away from her eye, but stayed her hand when Sirius' hand came close to her face. He moved as if to dry her tears, but his hand merely passed through her skin and caused Hermione to shudder. Sirius winced. "You…you cry for me?" he asked, his eyes wide and bewildered.

Smiling wanly, Hermione nodded. "You were a good friend to all of us Sirius."

It was just then that Sirius appeared to notice the light in her hands. His eyes grew even wider. "You are leaving, shining girl?" he asked her.

"If I can," Hermione said, looking down at the silver star.

Just then, an ear-splitting scream filled the black space, causing both Sirius and Hermione to start. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," Sirius muttered, his face going even paler (if that was possible). "You've made the Guardian upset," he whispered. "No one leaves. That's the rule."

Hermione placed her hand above Sirius' transparent shoulder, causing the spirit to look up at her in surprise. "Come with me, Sirius," she said, smiling. "Come back with me to Hogwarts."

The word had some sort of meaning to the spirit, but Sirius dolefully shook his head. "You are a fleshy one," he said. "I am a Transparent. I cannot go." Hermione tried to interject, but Sirius placed his finger just over her lips. "Thank you for telling me my name, shining girl."

Hermione let another few tears slip from her eyes, her smile sad but still in place. "We all love you Sirius," she said softly. "Harry most of all. Please don't forget."

Sirius nodded forcefully, a familiar determination in his brown eyes. Another earth-shattering roar split the space, and this time the Guardian materialized just in front of Sirius and Hermione. "You cannot leave, witch!" he shrieked, white-hot eyes narrowed and burning.

"Well I am!" Hermione shouted back, cradling her aura carefully. "So sod off, you nasty bugger!"

The Sirius ghost seemed to smile, despite the fact that he was trembling in fear before his master. It was then that the Guardian appeared to notice Black. "Step aside, Transparent," he hissed, "It is not your place to interfere in these affairssssss."

"I am not just Transparent," Sirius said firmly, looking up into his master's burning eyes. It was obvious to Hermione that he was afraid, but the simple act of defiance caused the Guardian to start.

"….excuse me?" he spat.

"I. Am. Not. Just. Transparent." Sirius said firmly, gaining more confidence. "My name is Sirius Black. I am a godfather and a friend, and this dark prison will no longer hold me!"

The Guardian shrieked again, the sound nearly deafening Hermione and causing Sirius to stumble backwards through space. "YOU DARE!" the monster shouted, his voice echoing impossibly. "YOU DARE GO AGAINST YOUR MASTER?!"

"Master no longer," Sirius snarled, and he lunged at the mass of endless darkness.

"Sirius, no!" Hermione shouted.

Rather than struggle or protest, Sirius just looked back and smiled as the Guardian suspended him in midair. "Use your light, shining girl," he said. "Use your light. Go home."

And with that, the guardian dropped Sirius into a gaping black hole that must have been the monster's excuse for a mouth, and Hermione felt like she was going to be sick. Keeping her head as best as she could, compartmentalizing the grief for another time, Hermione looked at the light in her hands. "Apparate, please, apparate," she chanted, watching her aura glow. "C'mon, silver soul, show me you're good for something! APPARATE TO HOGWARTS GODDAMN YOU!"

Hermione felt a familiar nausea coming on, and just about whooped for joy. However, her exhilaration had come too soon; a star-speckled, black hand closed around a part of her aura, dampening the light. The other half kept glowing steadfastly, however, and soon the hand disappeared with a prolonged howl. To Hermione's dismay, the part of her aura that the Guardian had touched remained black during apparition, and the entire orb shortly disappeared as her vision was flooded with black.

Hermione was no longer floating, her head pressed against something soft and warm, another warmth hovering around her hip. She could feel light puffs of air rustle against her hair, and the familiar smell of oak and spices filled her nose. "Draco," she murmured, knowing her voice was barely audible, knowing that it wouldn't have been understandable.

The warmth around her stiffened. "Her….Hermione?" an excited, emotional whisper replied. "Hermione, are you awake?"

To reply, Hermione used all of her available energy to slowly open her eyes. She was met with a truly beautiful sight; blonde hair, pale skin, dry, thin lips, and a pair of grey eyes that were fill to the brim with love, tears, and happiness. "Oh, Hermione," he exhaled, his lips curving into a gorgeous smile.

If she could have, Hermione would have smiled too. However, after one has nearly died and come back to life, one is rightfully rather exhausted, and all of Hermione's muscles screamed for rest. Instead, she contented herself with a happy blink and the feeling of Draco's lips against her forehead before she fell asleep.

She was home.

_A/N: Alrighty, we're approaching the end of our story folks! All's not done yet, but I'd estimate no more than three chapters should follow this one. Maybe four. I won't be able to write for a while, so please don't look for an update until after January 14th. Please R&R, the muse loves it! _

_Happy new year, everyone! All the best for 2013! May it be a very Potter year. ~sneakyslytherin_


	22. Shattering

"…her vitals appear normal…"

"...of course…normal…_woke up_!"

"…optimistic?"

"….it's the truth….old bag…."

Two voices drifted gradually through Hermione's consciousness, one higher-pitched and grating, the other low, soft, and reassuring. The heat around her was gone, leaving her feeling somewhat bereft and empty, but she felt a warm palm rest on her cheek, the temperature and tenderness acting as a release for her cold, lonely skin. Leaning into the touch, Hermione heard a gasp.

"…Miss Granger?" the high voice asked tentatively. Hermione just left her head pressed up against the warm palm, smiling as a thumb traced over her cheekbone.

"Hermione," the lower voice said, "it's me, Draco. Can you open your eyes for me, sweet?"

Hermione's heart thrilled, doing loops in her chest, and her eyes shot open. Gradually her vision focused, latching immediately onto a pair of grey eyes. "Sweet?" she croaked, her throat feeling scratchy and unused.

Draco smiled, the moment of joy lighting up his face before he schooled his expression to a slightly more neutral one. "What?" he drawled, "Would you prefer frizzball? That'd work just as well."

Attempting to smile, Hermione's muscles contracted and expanded to accommodate her happiness. These actions, however, didn't work out as planned; she cried out as she felt the disturbance of multiple bruises, lacerations, and potential fractures. She shifted, attempting to relieve the pain, only to gasp as a white-hot laser of agony shot up from her collarbone and ribcage. Now panting, Hermione couldn't miss the concerned look in Draco's eyes.

"Madam Pomfrey," he said, his voice low and demanding authority, "now that Miss Granger is _awake_, might it not be prudent to attempt the healing charms again before she dies of blood loss or pain?"

Hermione's hazy vision flicked over to where the mediwitch was standing with her mouth open, shock written in her every feature. Draco's tone, however, seemed to bring her out of her stupor and she immediately descended upon Hermione, waving her wand and muttering diagnostic incantations. Looping her wand in a semi-circle, Madame Pomfrey summoned a vial of strange orange potion. She flicked it over to Draco almost casually. "Give her this, Mister Malfoy," she commanded, mimicking the commanding tone that Draco had previously just used on her.

"…voice restoration potion?" Draco asked, seemingly nonchalantly. Anyone who knew him well, however, would find the hint of skepticism in his tone almost overbearing. "Shouldn't we focus on her physical injuries prior to fixing her vocal chords?"

The mediwitch shook her head vehemently. "Before we perform any extensive healing charms we must make sure that the patient is fully mentally competent and non-volatile."

Hermione could feel Draco's anger building as he set the vial down on the night-side table. "The patient?" he said lowly. "You're talking about _Hermione Granger_, whom you have known for seven years. Do you honestly think that she would be danger to anyone?"

"She's been through a traumatic experience," Madame Pomfrey said calmly, running her wand over Hermione's ribs. "We have to collect this information so that we can decide whether to take a calculated risk and heal her fully. If she's mentally unstable it would be logical to not proceed any further with the treatment."

"She is fine," Draco said, not raising his voice above a half-whisper. "I think we can afford to take a _calculated risk_ and prevent her from bleeding out while we watch."

Moving her hand through the agony, ignoring the alarm bells that went off as she watched the argument about her mental state, Hermione grabbed the vial of potion on her bedside. Neither Pomfrey nor Malfoy noticed as she raised the vial to her lips and felt the soothing effect of the orange-tasting liquid slipping down her throat and working its magic.

"Mister Malfoy, she has just emerged from a magical coma -"

"Entirely successfully!"

"How can you be so sure of your diagnosis? Have you been doing some extra credit reading, hmm? Fancy yourself a healer?"

"Madame Pomfrey, I must insist -"

"You may not insist, Mister Malfoy -"

"SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!" Hermione yelled, closing her eyes to shut out the pain that shouting caused in her lungs. _Well, _she thought snidely to herself, _apparently that voice potion works. Excellently. _

"I am perfectly capable of speaking on my own behalf, thank you," she said, controlled and quiet. "I believe that I am perfectly sane, and I do not feel any sudden urges to smash things or become the next Voldemort" - Madame Pomfrey winced – "so I would assume that my magic is under control."

Draco seemed to be suppressing a smile, although his brow was still furrowed and concern still hovered behind the grey surface of his eyes. Hermione quirked a small – painful – smile, and looked back at the silent mediwitch. Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat, deliberately still not meeting Hermione's eyes. "Miss Granger," she started slowly, "may I ask you a few routine questions to determine whether your mental facilities are intact?"

"You may," Hermione said shortly.

The mediwitch did not seem deterred by the curt reply. "And afterwards may I ask you to perform some simple magic, just to ensure that your core is undamaged despite being in a comatose and dormant state for some time?"

"Yes," Hermione said simply, looking briefly at Draco. "That shouldn't be an issue."

"Brilliant," Madame Pomfrey said, looking up to meet Hermione's steady gaze. "What is your full name?"

"Hermione Jean Granger."

"Do you know what today's date is?"

Attempting to mimic Draco's coy eyebrow-raise, Hermione tilted her head in the less-agonizing direction. "I have no idea," she said pointedly. "I know that when I was abducted it was November third, but I have no clue how long I spent in captivity or how long I was…unconscious." A sudden thought came to Hermione's mind. "Draco! You're…you're not dead! But, how - ?"

"You used Earth Magic, Hermione," Draco said quietly. "You somehow stopped the curse, killed Lucius, and sent yourself into this strange magical coma."

Hermione's eyes grew wide, her stunned gaze meeting Draco's calm, level one. She was about to say something else, when the mediwitch felt she had to assert her place once more. "Excuse me!" Madame Pomfrey said brusquely. "I am asking the questions here! Mister Malfoy, please do not interrupt again. Who is the current head of Hogwarts, Miss Granger?"

"Professor Minerva McGonagall," Hermione said tiredly, wishing she could just go back to sleep and stop bleeding. "Taking over, of course, from former Headmaster Severus Snape, a member of the Order of the Phoenix who was acting as a Death Eater in order to gain information for the light and protect students to the best of his abilities. And he, of course, took over the position from Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who I do _not _need to tell you about, and before him came Armando Dippet -"

"It's quite clear that Miss Granger still has _Hogwarts: A History _memorized down to the last semi-colon," Draco said coolly, interrupting Hermione's tired monologue. "Is that not satisfactory proof of her mental capabilities?"

Obviously ruffled, Madame Pomfrey sniffed quickly. "Yes, I suppose it will do," she said stiffly. "However, before I begin the healing process, would you please demonstrate some magic, Miss Granger?"

"What would you like me to do, Madame?" Hermione said, intentionally leaving off the mediwitch's last name.

The slight did not go unnoticed. "Levitate this," Madame Pomfrey said coldly, handing Hermione a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. "Hopefully you will find this edition to your liking, Miss Granger."

Hermione gave the witch a painful, sickly-sweet smile and turned her attention on the book. Draco handed her a thick, maple-wood wand that felt wrong in her hand, and it was only then that Hermione realized she had most likely lost her beautiful wand forever. _Pull yourself together, witch_, she said forcefully to herself, shaking out of it. _Now come on, a silent 'wingardium leviosa'. Sixth year stuff. You can do it._

Focusing all of her attention on the battered tome, Hermione thought, _Wingardium Leviosa! _and felt a distinct pull beneath her stomach that she hadn't felt before. Not quite the gut-wrenching feeling of apparition, this feeling still made Hermione nauseous. It was only after a few silent seconds that Hermione realized the book hadn't levitated.

Her brow furrowed, a sinking feeling in her stomach, Hermione attempted the silent charm once more. The book didn't budge.

Suddenly very conscious of Draco and Madame Pomfrey's concerned gazes, Hermione sat up as tall as she could without crying out in pain, and stated firmly, "Wingardium Leviosa". Only then, only after she had said the charm aloud, did the book begin to rise. But, it was not up to Hermione's usual standards; the same, strange pulling feeling from her stomach returned, and the book wobbled as it hovered a mere few inches off the desk. Hermione's heart plummeted.

_No. _

Dark screams from a dark, strange creature.

_ NO._

A black splotch, blotting out beautiful silver.

_NO!_

"There is always a price, no matter what…."

_It's just an after-effect of the coma, Hermione, it's not a big deal…I'm sure this is only temporary._

Madame Pomfrey was looking at Hermione expectantly, but she had obviously missed something that the mediwitch had said. Smiling, Hermione said, "Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

The mediwitch's eyes showed a moment of fear. "I asked if I could run a test on your magical core, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded stiffly and looked up at Draco. The blonde gave her an encouraging smile, but he was an open book to her; fear was evident in his eyes too, and Hermione felt her own terror bubbling just beneath the surface of her skin.

Madame Pomfrey pointed her wand directly at Hermione's heart, muttering in a language that sounded suspiciously like Gaelic. A red twisted symbol hovered in the air over Hermione's chest, and the mediwitch blanched. "What?" Hermione asked, a spark of terror creeping into her voice. "What is it?"

The witch swallowed, her eyes still focused on the space where the symbol had been. "Madame Pomfrey?" Draco said quietly, no hostility in his tone. "What does the red mean?"

"That," Madame Pomfrey said shakily, "is an indication that Hermione's magical core is permanently damaged." Complete silence. "Whilst in the coma it must have been damaged somehow, or potentially it was damaged before she used the Earth Magic -"

"No, no no," Hermione said quickly, her mind whirring faster and faster and faster, out of control. "The Guardian did it when I was leaving his space." Looking down, Hermione started fiddling with the bed sheets. "Because I wasn't a Transparent I had a core, but he didn't want me to leave….Sirius saved me, but the Guardian managed to grab part of my core as I was apparating. Part of it was silver, but part of it was black. He said that there would be a price for me to leave, but….oh God!"

When Hermione looked up again with tears in her eyes, both Draco and Madame Pomfrey looked incredibly confused and…._scared? Why on earth would they be scared? It's _me _who's virtually a squib! _

The full reality of the situation hit her, and it was all Hermione could do to contain her sobs. "You…saw Sirius Black?" Madame Pomfrey said softly.

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, determined that her voice wouldn't wobble. "he saved me from the Guardian."

"Who is this Guardian?" the mediwitch asked, tilting her head.

Hermione thought for a moment. "It's not _who_, but more like _what_," she finally decided. "He _is _the very land I was in. At first I believed that I was in heaven" – obviously the two wizards around her had no idea what heaven was, but Hermione was in no mood to recite Genesis – "but obviously not, as I returned here. The Guardian was this horrible creature, made out of stars and darkness and these two white-hot _holes _for eyes…he was terrifying."

"Could this have been a dream, Hermione?" Draco asked, his voice laced with subtle concern.

The truth hit Hermione hard, knocking all the wind out of her as she stared into troubled grey eyes laced with fear. "You don't believe me," she said softly. "Neither of you."

"No matter what happened dear, you must come to terms with the fact that you have little-to-no magic," Madame Pomfrey said matter-of-factly, cutting off Draco who was obviously about to respond. "You'll be able to cast simple, verbal charms – such as levitation spells, cleaning spells, potentially even a vanishing charm – however large spells such as the patronus charm and unforgivables will be far beyond your physical capacity."

Obviously the mediwitch couldn't see how much this was hurting Hermione. Beautiful dreams, carefully created and placed on a high shelf, were falling, shattering on the ground in millions of irreparable pieces. No magic. No future. No life.

"You'll be granted special status by the Ministry of course, but you'll have to file for that paperwork sooner rather than later. This paperwork must be presented on all significant occasions; crossing borders, your wedding, employment interviews, and the like. It's mandatory that your status be made public to all."

"Is there a name for me?" Hermione said hoarsely, her voice betraying her pain. "I'm not a squib, but I'm not a witch. There has to be a name."

There was a moment of silence. To Hermione's surprise, it was Draco who answered her. His voice was toneless and flat, his lack of emotion confirming Hermione's darkest fears. "The official term is a Semi-Competent Witch or Wizard, however those afflicted with this condition are more commonly referred to as "Almosts"."

_An Almost. I am an Almost._

Draco continued softly; "As you might guess, society isn't particularly kind to these individuals. Most of them end up assimilating into muggle culture."

Madame Pomfrey jumped in. "It's all right my dear, this will work out," she said, moving to grab Hermione's hand.

Even through the pain, Hermione moved her hand away. "Don't touch me," she snapped, clasping her still-bloody hands together. She took a deep breath. "I'm telling the truth about the Guardian," she said calmly, closing her eyes. "You can choose not to believe me, you can choose to commit me, you can choose to not heal me – I don't bloody care. Just. Get. Out."

There were a few moments of silence as Madame Pomfrey and Draco didn't move. Eventually, Hermione heard the soft click of the mediwitch's shoes leaving the cubicle. "Hermione," Draco said quietly, breaking the silence.

"I said go away," Hermione snapped, ignoring the tears that fell treacherously from her eyes.

"I just want you to know that I believe you."

_Don't do this Draco._

"No one knows what happens when someone goes into a magical coma, no one's ever come back before – for all we know there could be a Guardian, and Sirius, and all that."

_Stop being so bloody wonderful, Draco. Please._

"I just…I wanted to say that I love you, Hermione."

_No. Not now, please, no –_

"I didn't realize it until -"

"_Leave_, Malfoy," she said firmly, using his last name intentionally. The pain of her action sliced through her, but she knew that what she was doing was right; she was an Almost, and he was a Pureblood. Draco deserved so much more than what she could offer – he shouldn't give his heart away to a useless witch like her. His heart was far too precious. _For the Greater Good_, she thought bitterly, feeling like she'd just ripped an open wound in her soul.

The change in the atmosphere of the room was palpable. "Fine, _Granger_," Draco said coldly, his heart shuttered. "Enjoy your little stay in the sick ward. It might be the last chance you have to legitimately live inside of Hogwarts."

The comment was made to hurt, but it did more than that; it destroyed.

Long after Draco had left the room, Hermione stayed sitting up, silent tears coursing down her cheek, her soul in pieces all around her, her dreams in shattered fragments on the floor.

_A/N: Sorry for the long delay, everyone! This chapter was incredibly hard to write, as I'm sure you can all imagine. We're not too far from the end here, everyone! Keep hanging on with me, Draco, and Hermione for just a little bit longer. Love to all my readers and reviewers, your kind and constructive words are always so wonderful and appreciated. ~sneakyslytherin_

_PS - I've had some comments about Luna's age, and would just like to say that I took the creative liberty and put her a year up - it felt like Hermione didn't have too many close female friends in her year, and I wanted to give her one. If you must, believe that Luna took summer courses. :) Oh, and also, for this chapter I assume that the world has become aware of Sirius' innocence after the fall of the Dark Lord. Thanks for your tolerance of my crazy changes._


	23. She's Leaving Home

The dark of the Hospital Wing seemed to echo with whispers; a castle that used to be filled with light and noise for Hermione was now filled with shadows and silence. Spending the past three weeks in the common area of the infirmary had been the worst time of Hermione's life. Sympathy had come pouring in from all over the castle against her wishes. Word of her condition spread amongst her 'peers' as well as her teachers, and by the end of the first week everyone from eighth year and every Hogwarts professor had come to pay their respects. Flowers, chocolates, and cards piled up around her, but Hermione barely noticed. In order to cope with the pain she'd detached herself; Hermione was just a shell, her soul and personality buried deep under a polished, plastic exterior.

The tragic thing is that no one noticed.

Well, almost no one.

Harry was sitting by Hermione's bedside long after visiting hours ended, his hand resting lightly over her non-moving one. The two sat in silence for hours, just as in-tune with each other's emotions as they had been for the past seven years. By now Hermione's body was almost completely healed, but she only ever got out of bed to walk with Harry. Madame Pomfrey was hoping to discharge her in the morning though, her clean bill of health giving her no more cause to stay in the Hospital Wing. There was a quidditch game that weekend, and the mediwitch anticipated that she'd need every bed for the wounded players.

Hermione knew that she should be thinking about what to do, about where to go from here, but she just couldn't bring herself to care. It was as if life was empty for her now.

Harry's voice broke the silence. "Ron dropped by when you were asleep yesterday."

Hermione's face remained emotionless, no longer feeling anything at the mention of Ron's name. "I hope he enjoyed the view," she said dryly, knowing that all he would have seen was her thin, emaciated, hopelessly scarred body. She was far too pale, her hair was growing out of control, and there were huge purple circles under her eyes. It wasn't as if she cared, though – these were just facts, considered like words and numbers written about someone else, far away.

Silence stretched on for a bit after Hermione's response, but neither she nor Harry cared; they were comfortable with quiet. It was some time before Harry spoke again; "You're not coming back to classes, are you?" he said softly, his sad green eyes meeting her brown ones.

Hermione shook her head slowly. "McGonagall said that I could stay, but I didn't see the point." Her voice was bitter and sad. "There's no way I could muster the magic to pass a NEWT practical exam, let alone work in any of my classes. I could only keep Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and History of Magic. Even if I pass those with flying colours, you need at least five classes to graduate, and I have no intention of failing _anything_."

Smiling in a melancholy way, Harry shook his head. "Still the perfectionist," he said kindly, watching as Hermione's lip quirked up into a miniature smile of a sort. Harry sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his face in tired circles. In that moment Hermione could really see the exhausted man that this once-exuberant boy had become, and how quickly he'd had to grow up. Although he was only eighteen, he looked like he carried the burden of a fifty-year-old. "I suppose you don't want a big production?" Harry asked, resting his chin in his hands and balancing his elbows on his knees.

Hermione thought for a moment and then nodded. "No one needs to know I've left the castle until I'm long gone," she said firmly. "I'm done with tears and chocolates."

"You don't want to say good bye to Draco, then?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Silence reigned again. Neither she nor Harry had commented on the obvious rift that had formed between herself and the Slytherin – of all the eighth year visitors that she'd had, Draco had been noticeably absent – but Hermione had preferred it that way. Her actions still cut into her every time she took a breath, reminding her of the pain she had caused him and the emotional agony that she'd have to live with. _For the Greater Good_, she repeated to herself for what must've been the twelve-billionth time. Taking a deep breath, Hermione shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "I don't. I doubt he'd see me right now, and I have no desire to see him."

_This is going to kill me_, she thought, feeling another part of her soul wither and collapse.

Harry frowned, his eyes sad. "What happened to you two?" he asked, concerned. "Draco's back to being a snarky bastard, snapping at everyone, terrorizing his TA classes, and then there's you; hollow, empty. Like all the fight's gone out of you. I'm worried for you, 'Mione. I want to help you, will you tell me how?"

Listening to Harry's words, Hermione almost deflated. She came within one heartbeat of breaking down, dissolving into the tears that she'd been trying so hard to fight off, telling Harry everything. Then, she'd rush across the castle in her hospital gown, fling open the common room door, and run into Draco's waiting arms where she would happily spend the rest of her life. She almost broke, but not quite.

Latching firmly onto that famous British spirit, Hermione maintained her stiff upper lip and shook her head. "I'm just tired, Harry," she said quietly. "I'm tired of the strain, the pressure, the fear. I'm done living this way. Being an Almost has…._redefined _me. I candisappear now, I canjust go away – I don't have enough of a magical trace to track. I have no more societal expectations to live up to. I can go get a fresh start somewhere else. Away from here. This is good for me."

It was obvious that Harry saw there was more to her story. He frowned, but nodded, knowing that this was the most he was going to get from his very private friend. Sighing, Harry put his glasses on again. "Well, the least you can do is let me help you leave," he said firmly, trying to smile.

Hermione gave her friend a mostly-genuine smile in return. "You've always been so kind to me Harry," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "Thank you."

Harry nodded and smiled again. "What else are friends for?" he asked, leaning in to give her a dry kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back later tonight – get some rest 'Mione. You'll need it."

Grateful beyond words, Hermione watched Harry sneak out of her cubicle area and slip away into the sleeping castle. _You're almost gone, Granger_,she thought to herself. _Just a few more hours, and you can glue together the remnants of your soul. Maybe you can even be happy again._

But, deep down, Hermione knew that wasn't true. Hermione had read that according to myth humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, two heads, and two hearts. A vengeful god had split this being into two separate creatures, pushing them apart from one another. It became these humans' quest in life to find one another, this action creating the concept of soul mates; finding your missing half. Hermione had found her soul mate, and she had lost him. It was only fair that she let him move on to a better life without her Almost-ness tying him down.

Knowing she wouldn't sleep, Hermione closed her eyes. She had managed to suppress the tears decently well over the past few weeks, but every time she tried to sleep it would get worse. She would dream of him, and every morning she would wake with tears on her face and sorrow in her soul. So, Hermione had learned how to do without sleep. It would not do to show weakness. So, instead, she started writing a letter.

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

"Hermione!"

A quiet whisper caused her eyes to shoot open, still as awake as she'd been several hours ago. The letter stood finished and sealed in an envelope on her table, and Hermione's heartbeat decreased slightly. At the entrance to her cubicle, a silhouette with mussed crazy hair and the edge of circular glasses caused Hermione to relax fully and she whispered back, "Harry."

Taking a deep breath and focusing all of her available energy, Hermione whispered, "_Lumos_," and watched as a decent white-light formed at the tip of the disgusting maple-wood wand. The somewhat-feeble light illuminated Harry's tired face and slight smile, as well as a package in his arms and a large trunk that was hovering beside him. Already the magic was draining Hermione's remaining core.

"I packed and unshrunk your things 'Mione," he said softly, indicating the trunk behind him, lowering it to the ground, "and….I thought you might need this." He shoved the package in his arms at Hermione, looking away from her. "My days with it are over, basically, and…well….it's better than any disillusionment charm, and I don't know how you'll blend in otherwise."

Despite her best intentions, tears sparked at the corner of Hermione's eyes; in her arms, lovingly wrapped in old Daily Prophets and tied with brown kitchen string, was Harry's invisibility cloak. "But, Harry," she choked out. "This…this belongs to your family!" Hermione attempting to push the generous gift back at her friend. "I can't take this!"

Harry resolutely handed the cloak back to her. "You _are_ family 'Mione," Harry said kindly. "I want you to have it. Please."

Letting a few tears escape, Hermione jumped out of bed and hugged her friend firmly, pressing her cheek against his strong chest. He rested his head by her ear and pressed a light kiss to her temple before she pulled away. "Let me know when you're settled," he said quietly, turning away as she started to change. "I don't expect you to tell me _where _you are, just let me know how you're doing. Maybe we can meet up for tea or dinner some time."

Hermione nodded thickly as she slipped on a thick Weasley jumper and jeans. "I expect you to keep in touch," she said. "None of these two-sentence letters that you're so fond of!" She smiled thinly.

Harry smiled back, just as sad. "I hope you find what you're looking for," he said softly, watching Hermione throw on a tuke, her Harrod's scarf, and her trainers.

She smiled and gave Harry one last hug, tucking her new wand and the letter she wrote into her jean pocket. "Be good to Ginny," she said, pulling her trunk behind her and slipping on the invisibility cloak with a flourish. She watched Harry wave to where she used to be standing, and felt herself waving back.

Silently, Hermione slipped through the castle to the eighth-year dormitory. It was already four in the morning, so she knew all the nightmare-prone veterans would most likely be up and about already. Sure enough, as she slipped past the main door she saw that Draco's door was slightly open and the room dark. Looking out the wall of windows, Hermione saw a small figure swooping and diving above the quidditch pitch. She was almost certain that it was Draco, and she could see him in her mind's eye; his hair wind-blown, eyes closed as he swooped perilously close to the ground, hands loosely clasped around the handle of his old Nimbus. Saddened, Hermione slid through the black door and into Draco's room.

Immediately, his smell assaulted her; spices, wood, and warmth filled the air around Hermione, and her knees grew weak. _No! _she thought firmly. _Leave the letter, then go._

She was determined now, and moved towards the night side table where the letter would be obvious. However, something stopped her. Draco's smell wasn't _just _in the room itself…it was somewhere closer…under the cloak…tilting her head, Hermione realized that her Harrod's scarf now smelled like the Slytherin. Reality came crashing down, and the witch realized that Draco must have kept her scarf close to himself while she was kidnapped. Painful emotion bubbled up in her hollow chest, but Hermione pushed it down.

Pulling the scarf off from her neck, she carefully wrapped her letter in the green material. She looked around his room and saw nothing but a large wardrobe, a desk, his bed, a small table, and Étoile's cage. A spark of inspiration hit her, and Hermione moved over to the raven's empty home. As quietly as she could, she lifted the cage and placed the scarf and letter in the small empty space between the raised center of the cage and the table. Now Draco wouldn't find her confession until he was ready and had moved on.

Hermione nodded, satisfied, and slowly started backing out of the room. However, just as she was about to exit, Hermione froze. She couldn't forget, she could never forget him. How would she live if she ever couldn't remember his smell, his face, his mannerisms and quirks? Desperate, Hermione scanned the room once more. On the edge of the black wood desk, she spotted a pair of black leather gloves, the letters "D.M." engraved elaborately on the inside wrists. Feeling only a momentary stab of guilt, Hermione slipped the gloves on her own hands.

Taking one last look at the empty room, Hermione smiled sadly. "Good bye Draco," she said softly, closing the door with a quiet click.

Then, silently and with no witnesses, Hermione Granger left the Hogwarts campus and disappeared with a crack. She would never return to the grounds again.

_A/N: Just a couple more chapters everyone, we're almost at the end of the road! Don't worry, things will get better - too much sadness isn't good for anyone. :) PLEASE PLEASE PLESAE R&R, each and every word you type is precious to me. The next update should come within the next few days, hopefully. Thanks for your committment so far, beloved readers! ~sneakyslytherin_


	24. They Say Time Heals Everything

**_Nine Months Later_**

Draco felt no sadness when packing his bags. Leaving Hogwarts held no sorrow for him, nor any happiness; it was just a fact, something that had to be done so that he could move on and deal with his life. Hermione had left in the middle of the night eight months and twenty-seven days ago. She left without saying goodbye, disappearing as if she'd never existed. As if he wasn't worth telling. He knew that Potter knew she was leaving – he must have given her that blasted cloak of his, otherwise someone would have noticed her exiting the grounds – but she hadn't thought to include him in this secretive loop. _Well Draco_, he thought, throwing a turtleneck into his trunk with too much force, _she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with you. You returned the feeling. She didn't __**want **__you to know where she went because she doesn't give a rat's ass about you._

It amazed him that he could still feel this strongly almost nine months later. Chucking a pair of dress shoes into the trunk with a satisfying 'thunk', Draco whirled around to snatch another garment from his wardrobe; his hand closed on nothing. He suddenly realized that he had finished packing. _Internal rants really do speed things up sometimes_, he mused, looking around his very empty room. McGonagall had given him the option to stay through the summer; although he had graduated, Draco was reluctant to return to the very large, very empty manor that awaited him. Plus, all the legal work had to be sorted out before he moved in. And it's not easy inheriting anything from a prominent magical terrorist.

Draco levitated his trunk out of the room, turning around and grabbing Étoile's birdcage in his hand – she didn't like being levitated, it made her feel inferior. Without looking back, Draco left his dorm and closed the thick black door for what he hoped was the last time.

When his raven squawked loudly, Draco murmured, "Silénce, mon ami, nous allons partir."

Shocking Draco, Étoile squawked again. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he snapped, impatient with his familiar. _She's never like this…Étoile is always a patient traveler. _

Another squawk. "Don't tell me you're sad to be leaving," he sighed, switching into English, frustrated. "You never liked this blasted place anyways. Don't you want to go back to the big empty manor where you can fly around wherever you'd like? Only me and you, girlie."

Étoile cocked her head, obviously annoyed, and cried out again. This time she flung herself against the side of her cage, back towards Draco's room. "You don't have to live on the bloody table anymore," the blonde ground out. "What, do you want to say goodbye to the room?!"

Forcefully pushing the door open with a burst of magic, Draco flung his arm out towards the empty room. "See?" he yelled. "Nothing to bloody care about -"

But something caught the Slytherin's eye. There, on the table surrounded by a ring of dust, was a green lump. It was just under where Étoile's birdcage used to be, so it must have been tucked under the base. The fabric was worn and not overly damaged – it had apparently been under the cage for a while – but Draco drew his wand none-the-less. Since Hermione's departure he'd manage to re-make several enemies, and he wouldn't put it past Susan to leave some nasty hex for him to find. Carefully heading towards the small lump, a flutter of recognition passed through his mind. _I know this fabric…it's familiar…_

Suddenly, Draco's heart stopped. _It's Hermione's scarf_, he thought, his mind virtually frozen. _It's Hermione's Harrods scarf, and I didn't put it there. She had it. I put it in her room before she left. Why is it under the birdcage?_

The blonde hesitantly reached forward to pick up the material, and was immediately assaulted with the smells of vanilla, parchment, and cinnamon; Hermione. Lifting up the scarf, Draco saw the worn yellow logo and the tattered tassels on the edge, his mind propelling him into the midst of battle and a dark hallway closet when he'd held this material close to his heart. When it had meant something to him other than betrayal and love lost.

He picked up the scarf and threw it at the wall, rage bubbling through his entire body, threatening to explode through his crackling aura. Something stopped him though; when Draco threw the scarf, a small slip of paper fell from the inner folds of the material. An envelope, yellowed and faded yet protected by the scarf, fluttered to the ground and landed just in front of his feet.

As Draco approached the envelope warily, his heart jumped up into his throat; the flowing cursive was heart-wrenchingly familiar, it's normally confident loops and curves marred by blots and obvious hesitations.

_Hermione._

_Hermione left me a letter._

_ Bloody bitch._

_ Wonderful girl._

"What the hell, Étoile?" Draco shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "You knew it was here all along?!" The bird seemed to shrug, her amber eyes all-knowing and patient. "Bloody chicken," the Slytherin mumbled, ignoring her offended squawk.

His hand trembling, Draco reached out and picked up the letter. His thumb brushed aside a layer of dust that covered the carefully-penned word, "Draco", the slight crookedness of the writing and the uneven penmanship indicating that Hermione was emotional when she wrote it. _I know you too well_, he thought, tenderly brushing off the dust covering the seal on the back. It was a legitimate wax seal, not a magical one, and Draco's heart twisted painfully; she had to have written this after her core was damaged.

Shaking noticeably, the blonde broke the splotchy wax. He pulled out the parchment within, and then hesitated. _Do I want to read this? _he wondered, uncertain. _I'm done with her, she made that clear. This will probably end up just hurting me more, honestly. But….how can I __**not **__read it? Damn her, this is just like something from one of her blasted novels._

Sighing and cursing his vulnerable heart, still in pain after all these months, Draco unfolded the paper. Her smell wafted up to him again, but the blonde braced his spirit and began to read.

_Dearest Draco,_

_Yes, Draco. Not Malfoy, not Ferret - Draco. And yes, you are my dearest. My only. My other half. I hurt you, intentionally, and it's killing me. But I can't leave tonight without telling you that, I can't let you live your whole life thinking ill of me when I only wanted to do you good. But I digress, this is not meant to be about me, this is meant to be about you._

_Hopefully you don't find this letter for some time – I want to be long gone when you're reading this, so if I haven't left just bugger off and let me leave – and I hope that you've moved on. I desperately hope that you move on. I have to believe that you will, otherwise I don't know that I could leave you._

_Getting directly to the point, my love, I am not good enough for you. A man with your wonderful qualities and personality has a world filled with possibilities ahead of them, and should in no circumstances be shackled to an Almost. A magic-less witch is no fit company for a man such as yourself, and to think that I could impose myself upon you for any amount of time is deplorable, both for my sense of dignity and yours. _

_I must convey that the harsh words I used earlier were the most difficult words that have ever crossed my lips. I regretted them before they had even formed in my mind. I listened to every word you were saying, and desperately wanted to agree with you, but knew that for your own good I had to free you from my horrid company. _

_Please know that I love you, and I always will. I am not saying this to make you feel guilty, or so that you try and seek me out – in fact, please don't. I hope you will be living a normal life, and I have no intention of disrupting it with my letter. But, I simply must tell you how I feel. It was your words of love that saved me from the Guardian and gave me the power to escape with what little magic I have left, and I realized that I have not yet had a chance to return your passionate words. _

_I love you, Draco. I will never stop, and I know that I will never find somebody else as long as I live; you are my soulmate, and it is because I love you that I need to set you free. _

_Please, forget about me and the hurt I've caused you. _

_Love, always, _

_Hermione_

Draco stared at the letter for a long time, reading it and rereading it until the letters blurred before his eyes. Time stood still for what seemed like a miniature eternity, wheels turning in Draco's head as he attempted to process what was staring him in the face.

The only word he could latch onto was 'love'.

_I have lived for eight months and twenty-seven days believing that she hated me_, he thought slowly, _but now she says she loves me. _

Conflicting emotions warred within his mind, words spinning out of control and feelings ricocheting off of every possible surface.

_I should go find her, ask if this is true._

_No, you idiot, she said specifically __**not **__to go find her._

_You're actually going to listen to what an emotional witch wrote in a letter? You're a bloody Malfoy for Merlin's sake, you never listen to anyone!_

_But…__**Hermione **__wrote it. She's not just any witch._

_Exactly. And because she's Hermione, you have to go find her. _

Striding purposefully over to the corner, Draco snatched up Hermione's scarf from where he had thrown it. Lifting the scented material to his nose, he closed his eyes and saw her; frizzy, uncontrollable hair, tired yet loving brown eyes, pale, freckled skin, a smile that lit up her face and brought out dimples on her lovely cheeks….

_I'm finding her_, he thought, shoving the scarf into his pocket. _Damn what she wants, damn what she thinks about her self-righteous sacrifice. Damn you Hermione, I'm going to find you, and you can't bloody well stop me._

HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM

Pulling her winter coat more closely around her, Hermione stepped off the bus and onto the crowded sidewalk. It was rush-hour in Boston, Massachusetts, and Hermione was one of the thousands of people just trying to get to work as quickly as possible. She stuffed her headphones into her ears, humming along to her latest favourite playlist as she weaved between pedestrians.

Someone stepped on the edge of her coat, but Hermione didn't even bother to turn around and see who it was; she knew that her coat was a bit long, but she had decided that the occasional trip or slip was worth the ability to cover up her scrubs in public. It was embarrassing enough just to wear the scrubs, but wearing them in public tended to give off a 'serial killer' vibe that Hermione liked to avoid.

Just as her song was coming to an end, she walked through the staff doors of the Massachusetts General Hospital for Children. A large pod filled with multiple desks dominated the small area, and flickering white lights casting bizarre shadows from the hodge podge of secretaries and computers. Hermione walked up to the large metal box on the wall and punched in her card, the loud 'click' barely audible above the regular hospital din. "You're here early today," the main receptionist said to Hermione, smiling.

Hermione returned the smile and shrugged. "Traffic was light," she replied, moving into the next room that contained the employee lockers. Hermione spun the dial to its combination – 713 – and shucked off her cumbersome jacket, draping it over the small hook inside of the locker. Reluctantly, Hermione paused her iPod and pulled out her headphones, placing her beloved possession on the top shelf. Some muggle technology truly surpassed wizarding ones, in her opinion. Grabbing her nametag from the shelf and switching out her nice boots for 'sensible shoes', she locked her locker and once again walked out into the reception area. With her light blue scrubs, white shoes, and hair pulled back into a relentlessly gelled bun to keep it out of the way, Hermione looked like the stereotypical image of a nurse.

It had taken her a while to get used to the fact that her scrubs didn't have pockets; usually she never dreamed of purchasing anything without handy places to hide your wand. However, shortly after beginning her paid internship at the hospital, Hermione had realized that she genuinely had no need to carry her wand around. So, she left it at home, locked in a drawer on her bedside table. It's not like she could use it for much anyways.

Walking leisurely down the hallway illuminated by fluorescent lights, Hermione stopped by the staff coffee machine to brew a cup while she waited for her supervisor and coworkers. This was her second month working as an intern at the MGHC, and she absolutely loved it so far. Her supervisor, Dr Catherine Shiley, had told Hermione on multiple occasions that with her work ethic and skills she would be welcomed back for a permanent job at the hospital once her degree was finished. Shiley had even suggested that Hermione switch from the ambitious medicine program to the simplified nursing stream so that she could work sooner, but Hermione had rejected that idea straight out.

She had immigrated to America ten months ago, showing the American equivalent of the Ministry of Magic her 'Semi-Competent Witch' papers with one small alteration – rather than reading Hermione Granger, a name known even in the Americas, she had shown them altered certificates that declared a semi-competent "Miss Harriet Greer" wished to be granted United States citizenship. 'Harriet' had been granted her request, and had arrived in Boston with forged high school and university papers so that she could take her MCAT exams. Passing those with flying colours, Hermione had promptly been granted admission to the university internship program of her choice. After six months of classes, she had finally been allowed to live the child-medical experience every day. Her friend, Abigail, had asked her why she was so certain that medicine was her field – Abigail herself was having second thoughts about the program. At the time Hermione couldn't describe how she knew that she'd found her calling, but later, inside her head, she put it into words; the hole inside of her was still present, but it didn't hurt as much. Whenever she was at work, the hurt dulled and offered her merciful release. _That _was why she liked medicine; it was selfless, and offered a reprieve from her guilt.

Dr. Shiley came bursting down the hallway, her long white lab coat billowing Snape-like behind her. Severe and thin-boned, Dr Shiley looked like an amalgamation of angles; she was beautiful, in an austere way, and had one of the most musical and rare laughs that Hermione had ever heard. Her short black hair framed her thin, Japanese face perfectly, and Hermione had always thought that Shiley must have been incredibly sought-after when she was younger. Abigail scuttled along just after the impressive doctor, her long blonde hair twisted back into a bun that was already falling out around her ears. Her large blue eyes looked at Hermione as if to warn her, but the ex-Gryffindor was ready for one of the supervisor's moods. "Good morning Doctor Shiley," Hermione said pleasantly, extending a full cup of coffee as a peace offering of sorts. "Did you have a long night?"

Abigail barely concealed a snort, turning her laughter into a strangled, choking cough that prompted both Hermione and Shiley to raise their eyebrows. (Hermione had started the whole eyebrow-raising thing – it was apparently a quirk that she'd picked up from Draco – but everyone in the Americas had quite liked the action. Abigail described it as 'wonderfully foreign'.) Doctor Shiley glared at the young, blonde intern before snatching the coffee out of Hermione's hand and taking a long, deep draught. "It was a horrible night, Harriet," she said shortly. "There was a car accident over by the aquarium – two children were involved, as well as one infant. None of them were too badly harmed, thank God, but I was needed to perform physical and psychological analyses. Thanks to the stupid city transit routes I didn't arrive home until after four in the morning."

Hermione nodded, allowing her boss to rant and expel all of her negative energy; it wouldn't do to behave that way around the children. "That's horrible," Hermione said sympathetically, frowning. "Why did they make you come in today?"

"They didn't," Shiley replied, giving a half-smile. "In fact, they told me to stay home. I just couldn't miss the opportunity to come in and terrorize my young interns, so I dragged my sorry self down here for your sakes. Hopefully my sacrifice does not go unappreciated?"

"Of course not Doctor Shiley," Abigail said quickly, sliding up beside Hermione and resting her hand on her friend's shoulder. "We appreciate every moment of valuable time that you allow us to share with you."

The doctor raised her eyebrow again. "Thank you Abigail for that gushing praise," she said dryly. With a sigh, Shiley set her half-drunk coffee down on the coffee table. "Well, ladies," she said, rubbing her hands together, "shall we begin?"

The majority of Hermione's day passed in a blur. She administered countless physical examinations, walked several children up the seven floors from diagnostics to surgery-preparation, set a dozen broken bones, iced an insane amount of sprains or strains, and gave out a seemingly ridiculous amount of sweets.

She only noticed that she was being watched when she was escorting her last patient of the day, a young boy, back downstairs to his mother. Whipping around, immediately on alert, she didn't see anything; just a hallway full of doctors, patients, and empty gurneys. But she had definitely felt someone's eyes on her back. Hermione narrowed her eyes, scanning the area for a familiar face or something out of place. Unfortunately, before her visual search was finished, she felt a small tug on her arm. "Miss Greer?" the little boy said, still clutching his forearm cast, "Is something wrong?"

Hermione's face filled with a genuine smile – the boy's concern was quite touching, really. "No, Arthur," she said softly, taking the boy's un-injured arm. "Nothing's wrong. Let's go find your mummy, okay?"

"Why do you say mummy, not mom?" the young boy asked, confused. "And why does your voice sound strange?"

Hermione laughed. "I come from a faraway place," she said, leading the enthusiastic Arthur down the stairs. "Over there it rains all the time and we all speak funny, and we call people 'mummy' instead of 'mom'."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Do you come from Wonderland?" he asked, looking up at her. "My mom…._mummy_ is reading me all about Wonderland."

Smiling, Hermione ruffled Arthur's hair as she met his relieved mother's eyes across the room. "Of course, Arthur," she said sweetly. "I come from a Wonderland that is filled with magic, and oddities, and people who changed sizes and shapes." A pang of melancholy filled Hermione's soul; what she was saying was far too close to the truth, and it hurt to remember what she could not have. "But…I can't go back, you see, so instead I get to stay here and meet lovely boys like you!"

Arthur grinned from ear-to-ear, obviously very proud of being called a 'lovely boy'. Apparently when one is a five-year-old male it isn't insulting to be called 'lovely' yet. "Are there princes in Wonderland?" he asked, one step behind Hermione as they crossed the lobby.

An image of white-blonde hair, pale skin, and grey eyes flashed across Hermione's vision. "…yes," she said slowly. "There are most definitely princes."

Hermione watched as Arthur hugged his mother, the middle-aged woman trying to avoid bumping the energetic boy's cast. "Mo-mummy!" Arthur cried out, "The nice Miss Greer is from Wonderland! She speaks weirdly, and she says that where she lived there was magic and princes!"

Arthur's mother smiled sadly at Hermione, her expression apologetic. "Have you been bothering Miss Greer, Arthur?"

Suddenly bashful, Arthur hid his face in his mother's skirt. "Not at all," Hermione said quickly, interjecting before the boy's self-confidence could completely shatter. "Arthur's been a very good patient, and just needs to avoid bumping that arm or putting too much weight on it."

"What do you say to the nice doctor, Arthur?" his mother said, stepping away from her now-shy son.

"Thank you Miss Greer," he mumbled, looking at the tips of his shoes.

"You are most welcome, Prince Arthur," Hermione said, crouching down to get the boy's attention. "And," she whispered, pretending to be very sneaky and conspiratorial, taking out her phone. "_this_ is what Wonderland looks like."

On her phone screen there was a picture of the Hogwarts grounds, sent to her by Harry; the Black Lake actually looked somewhat blue, and the Forbidden Forest had somehow managed to look slightly less terrifying than usual. Arthur's eyes lit up, and he immediately regained his excited energy. "Thank you Miss Greer!" he said enthusiastically, hugging a surprised Hermione and resting his chin briefly on her shoulder. "You're not a scary doctor at all, nothing like the ones on TV!"

Hermione was watching Arthur and his mother leave, the young boy surely regaling his mother with tales of Wonderland and princes, when she felt a set of eyes on her again. Turning slowly, Hermione scanned the busy lobby behind her. "You're paranoid, Granger," she grumbled, stomping off to the locker room to change out of her shoes.

She left the room a few seconds later, her long coat covering her scrubs, her iPod headphones dangling around her neck, and her oversized bag slung over her shoulder. Walking alongside her was Abigail, amazing Hermione with how energetic she was even after a full day of work. "..and that Chesney kid! Ugh, what a _nightmare_!" Abigail moaned as she punched her card. "I mean, you can only have one sucker, right? I told him this a dozen times, I _swear_…"

Hermione punched her own card and followed Abigail through the glass doors and out onto the street, nodding and smiling along with her friend. "Oh, and Ha-rri-et," Abigail said in a sing-song-y voice, her attitude seeming to entirely shift. "Did you see the new gynecologist who breezed in today?"

"Doctor Aamani?" Hermione said, slightly lost. "Yes, I did see him for about two seconds. Why do you ask?"

"We-e-ell," Abigail said, her tone of voice making Hermione nervous. "I've heard that he's single."

"Bloody hell, Abby!" Hermione said, a bit too loudly. "The poor man hasn't even been here for an entire day and you're already trying to set me up with him?"

"You've been alone _waaay _too long, Harriet," Abigail said, widening her eyes and feigning innocence. "Plus, I'm not trying to set you up – it's just he happens to be available and stunningly handsome. I'm only drawing your attention to the facts."

Just as Hermione was about to state that she was definitely _not _interested in the new gynecologist, she felt a sharp tug on her long coat. This time, however, she didn't hear a muttered apology, curse, or see someone almost trip trying to right themselves. Instead, as she was jerked backwards, she felt a strange pressure on the small of her back….almost like a warm hand….and…what was that smell?

When the pressure on her back lessened Hermione whirled around, expecting to see someone standing there and looking either extremely apologetic or extremely pissed off. However, there was nothing there. No one standing behind her, their hand still semi-extended. No one even close enough to have stepped on her jacket and then run away. Hermione blinked. _Oh no, _she thought. _…magic._

"Harriet? Harriet, are you okay?"

Abigail's voice jerked Hermione back into reality, and she answered her friend's concerned question quickly. "I'm fine, it's all good. I just…tripped."

Abigail shrugged and moved on, calling back, "Hurry up or we'll miss the bus, ninny!"

Her eyes still scanning the empty air behind her, Hermione looked at exactly the place where a disillusioned witch or wizard's eyes would be. Her vision hovered there for a moment before she looked away, tingles running up and down her spine. She felt edgy all the way home, waving goodbye to Abigail half-heartedly when the girl reached her stop.

As Hermione walked up the six floors to her flat –_apartment, Americans call it an apartment _–she couldn't help but focus on the invisible stranger who had stepped on her jacket. And that smell…it was so familiar, but the image that went with it escaped her….

Turning the key and stepping into her flat, it was a moment before Hermione looked up from the ground. When she did, however, she gasped, dropping her bag, keys, and iPod unceremoniously onto the floor. "….you!" she breathed, eyes wide. "You…git!"

_A/N: Sorry for the bit of a cliffy, you guys...but I bet you can guess who it is. :) So, one more chapter to go! Maybe an epilogue, no telling yet...but we'll see. And, apologies about my description of medical school in the US; I'm basing this entirely on assumptions I have, and the little research I've done about Canadian medschool. So, it's most likely all wrong, and I'm sorry. Please don't pelt me with rotten fruit. *hides*_

_Thanks for sticking with me this far everyone - all I ask is one more week, then I will set you free from my torturous writing. Look for an update this weekend. Much love! ~sneakyslytherin_


	25. Beginning Again

_Turning the key and stepping into her flat, it was a moment before Hermione looked up from the ground. When she did, however, she gasped, dropping her bag, keys, and iPod unceremoniously onto the floor. "….you!" she breathed, eyes wide. "You….git!"_

Of all the ways Draco had planned his reunion with Hermione, this reaction was in none of them. He was expecting happiness, potentially shock, maybe even anger…but this silence. This was unnerving. Was he supposed to say something? Was she?

Her beautiful brown eyes were wide, confused, and her lips were slightly parted in an 'o' shape. _Her lips are chapped_, Draco noticed. _She must have a stressful life working at that hospital. _Never changing, Hermione's crazy hair was pulled back into a bun that it was desperately trying to escape, some small curls breaking free and falling down to frame her face. Her cheeks were red, flushed, whether it was out of embarrassment or heat or something else Draco couldn't tell. All he could think about was how beautiful she was.

As the silence stretched on, Draco realized how bizarre this situation was; he had basically pinned the Chosen One up against a wall to get him to tell him where Hermione was, then had performed cross-country apparition to attempt to hunt down his ex-girlfriend who had left him flat almost nine months ago, had found her living under an assumed name within a week of arriving in the Americas, and had then followed her around all day just to sneak into her flat and surprise her. Things had almost gotten awkward when he'd tripped on Hermione's jacket and stopped her from falling, holding on just a few seconds too long, but he was disillusioned; she hadn't directly seen him. It sure as hell didn't sound like a 'normal' situation by any stretch of the imagination.

He had been relying entirely on the famous 'Malfoy social prowess' to get him through this situation; he'd walk into the room, see her reaction, and then play his cards so that she'd be dying to go back to England with him after seeing him again. Or, contrarily, if she sincerely hated him, he would destroy her with words like she had destroyed him. Normally this plan would have even been a realistic one, but, for some strange reason, the words were stuck in Draco's throat. He couldn't_ act_ around Hermione, he couldn't _pretend _that he didn't want to take her in his arms and just keep her there forever…so, he improvised.

Faintly, Draco heard the strains of music floating up from Herimone's shiny white device that she'd dropped. _It must be some muggle music contraption_, he thought to himself. "What are you listening to?" Draco said, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"…I refuse to believe that you're here," Hermione said flatly, not answering his question. "In fact," she stated, picking up her music machine, bag, and keys off the floor, "I'm just going to pretend that you don't exist."

Draco was flabbergasted, but he attempted to conceal his emotions. Not meeting his eyes, Hermione walked right by him, very careful to avoid touching the Slytherin, and proceeded into the next room. Her smell floated in the air after her, and Draco took a deep breath. _The scarf doesn't hold a candle to the real thing, _he thought, closing his eyes. Vanilla, parchment, and cinnamon danced around him, and he felt like he could fly.

Draco followed behind her, keeping his distance but making absolutely certain that Hermione knew he was there. However, it was apparent that she was following through on her promise to ignore him; she was walking around her small kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and pulling out various ingredients to make dinner. Draco had no idea how to fill the silence. _Well, honesty's the best policy, right?_

Taking a deep breath, he said, "Harry asked me to say hi."

Hermione's aggravated actions paused, just for a millisecond, and Draco could've almost jumped for joy. _She's listening. _Without turning around, she said, "He…he told you where I was? Even though I strictly told him not to?"

The words shot straight to Draco's heart, but they didn't hurt him; his heart had been ripped out nine months ago, and he was determined to win it back. "I made a convincing case," Draco replied, shrugging. "And, if it makes you feel better, he didn't give me many details. Massachusetts is an incredibly large state you know."

A ghost of a smile crept onto Draco's face, and his brain jumped. _A smile. A bloody smile. You've been back in this witch's presence for what, two minutes? And she's already got you right where you were nine months ago…bloody hell._

"How did you find me?" Hermione asked, grabbing a box of pasta and still not turning around to face Draco. Like he would disappear if she didn't make eye contact with him. "It's not like I leave a magical trace anymore."

Ignoring her self-targeted slight, Draco just raised a single eyebrow. "I have my ways," he said teasingly.

Hermione stopped moving. "Draco," she said lowly, "I _can _call the police you know. I may be an Almost but I still have ways of hurting you."

Trying his hardest not to laugh at Hermione's serious threat –apparently even nine months away from England hadn't tamed Hermione's temper – Draco reluctantly answered, "I checked the immigration records. They don't tell you who's a Semi-Competent, but they do give a list of those who moved to Massachussets during the time after you disappeared. It was just a matter of narrowing it down."

"Damn!" Hermione said to herself, obviously upset as she turned on her stove to get the water boiling. "They keep bloody records?"

Draco shrugged. "Apparently so."

"What a goddamnbureaucracy!" she shouted, staring into the not-boiling water like it was a pensive. "That didn't even bloody occur to me."

Draco just shrugged again. "Hermione," he said, recognizing the immediate tension that filled the air when he said her name. _This is probably the first time in months she hasn't been called 'Harriet'_, he thought sadly. "Hermione?" he said again, hoping to prompt some reaction. "Where should I put my coat? With the stove on and such it's getting rather stuffy in here."

He watched from the back as Hermione flickered from emotion to emotion, going from rage, to sadness, to confusion, but Draco knew the one phrase that must be spinning around in her mind. The same thought was whizzing around his; _if I take my jacket off, I'm staying. At least for a while._

Looking as if her neck was going to snap off, Hermione stiffly nodded to her pot of water. "Just chuck it on the coat-stand in the front."

Draco smiled as he turned away, walking into the small front entryway and hanging his jacket on the over-loaded coat-stand. Apparently Hermione _literally _threw everything on her coat-stand – there were a couple very long trenchcoats, a short leather jacket, and at least half-a-dozen cardigans just left haphazardly somewhere on the stand. _She was never this disorganized before, _he thought, concerned.

"If you're going to be staying," Hermione called out from the kitchen, sounding pained, "you could at least make yourself useful and help with dinner."

Draco's heart thrilled – _I'm staying for dinner, _he thought, excited. _She's letting me stay for dinner_.

Returning to the kitchen, Draco saw that Hermione was once again trying very hard not to look at him. He needed her to look. They couldn't get anywhere if she stayed this anti-social and awkward. So, turning on the Malfoy cunning, Draco slid up beside Hermione by the stove. He was very careful not to touch her, but he could feel the electricity in the air, filling the two inches of space between their sides.

As Draco watched, Hermione's back stiffened. The muscles in her jaw and neck were clenching, unclenching, like she couldn't decide whether to say something or remain silent. Finally, she turned her head to look at the blonde beside her. Her expression was neutral and calm, as if she didn't care that she'd had to turn and look at him, but Draco could read her emotions in her eyes; she was angry, and hurt, and excited…and she couldn't figure out what to do with him.

"So," he said slowly, turning so that his back was leaning against the counter. He crossed his arms. "What can I do?"

Hermione gulped, and Draco watched her eyes widen as she looked down at his crossed arms. His very visible, not-hidden-under-a-long-sleeved-sweater-arms. The light white scars still crisscrossed Draco's skin, and his dark mark stood faded but pronounced against his pale colouring, but his arms were bare. Flicking her eyes quickly away from Draco's arms and back to the not-boiling water, Hermione swallowed again. "You could make a salad," she said quietly. "The ingredients should all be in the fridge."

Anxiety flooded Draco's system. "Um…fridge?"

"Refrigerator?" she said, still looking down.

"Sorry," Draco said, trying his best not to sound embarrassed. "Not ringing a bell."

Exasperated, Hermione looked up from the water. "Really? You don't know what a fridge is? What do wizards _do_? Just conjure food spontaneously whenever they're hungry?" Draco opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off; "Oh nevermind. It's the large silver box, taller than me, over in that corner." She sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. "I'm changing out of my scrubs. Mind the pot." And with that, she walked quickly out of the room

Draco flushed, embarrassed by his lack of knowledge about the world Hermione now lived in. _Step it up, Draco. You should've done some research before you came storming in here. _Spotting a strange, humming silver box, Draco tentatively approached it. _I can do this, _he thought. _This is just a…what's it called? A fringe? No…damn it all, how do you open this bloody thing? _

Thinking there might be a secret button or trigger that opened it, Draco felt around the edges of the fringe. Finding none, the blonde gave the silver box a light push; the giant humming contraption swayed back and forth, causing Draco to jump back in a panic. "Be a good little fringe," he murmured, trying to stop it from rocking.

"Just pull it open like a door," Hermione called from behind him.

Ceasing his battle with the still-moving fringe, Draco whirled around to see Hermione standing in the doorway. She was dressed in tight-fitting jeans and an over-sized plaid shirt, with her hair still in its semi-fallen-out bun. _That was a quick change_, he thought, stopping himself from looking up and down her body again. Through his desperate embarrassment, Draco thought that he could detect… _was that almost a laugh? _…..in Hermione's statement. A flicker of a smile was hovering on Hermione's face as she moved away from the door and reached for vegetables on the counter, a crease in her brow as she obviously tried to figure out why she was smiling. Even if she was laughing /at/ him, she was still laughing in his presence! _Progress!_

Locating a small dent in the side of the fringe, Draco hesitantly pulled the box towards him…and was amazed as it opened, just like a door, to reveal a cold interior lit by a single panel of lights. "Ah," he said, attempting to make up for his mistake with the fringe, "electricity, right?"

Hermione sighed. _Oops. Mistake. _"Yes," she said quietly. "Electricity. There are no 'lumos' lights in this apartment."

As Draco rooted through the fringe to find the ingredients for salad – he quite liked the fringe actually, since every ingredient he wanted was _right there in front of him_, he didn't have to summon them individually – he replied, "Well, lumos lighting is overrated. Did you hear about that family in Surrey?"

Hermione was quiet for a moment, and the sounds of chopping stopped. "I don't get much news from England now," she said firmly. "Other than my letters from Harry, of course. But he mostly just talks about himself and Ginny and the ministry work."

_The bastard's been sending her letters. What a bloody son-of-a – _"Surrey is the county where Harry grew up though, isn't it?"

"Yes," Draco said, quickly shutting off his rather profane thoughts. He moved over to the island in the middle of the kitchen, dropping his armful of ingredients with muffled thumps "This witch who lived there had a kid who was scared of the dark, and she left him unsupervised with a lumos light."

"I don't like where this is going," Hermione sighed, tossing the chopped vegetables into a bubbling tomato sauce.

"Then I'll stop," Draco said flatly, pulling a head of lettuce out of a plastic bag. He contemplated cutting it with magic, but shook his head immediately. _No magic tonight, Draco_, he thought, ruffling around in a nearby drawer to find a suitable knife. A sudden thought occurred to him. "You're Americanized!" he cried out, turning around with a knife in his hand.

Hermione turned to face him, obviously a bit startled that Draco was pointing a knife at her. Noticing this, the blonde sheepishly lowered the sharp, pointy instrument. "What do you mean?" she said coolly. "Is it my reluctance to be told potentially disturbing news stories? I haven't pelted you with hamburgers or stars and stripes, have I?"

"Noooo," Draco said, the word drawn out and sing-song-y, "but you did just call your _flat _an _apartment_."

Now it was Hermione's turn to blush, the light red colouring her skin beautifully in Draco's opinion. "Well, I…I…" she stammered, unsure. "I have to immerse myself in the culture you know! I _am _going to be spending the rest of my life here." Obviously smug that she'd found a satisfactory response to Draco's accusation, Hermione smiled and turned back to her sauce mixture. "And close the fridge," she said as an afterthought, hearing a loud beep fill the room.

_Fridge! That's it! _Draco thought, pinning the word in his mind. He closed the glowing silver box firmly, giving it a small glare, and turned back to his salad. Draco couldn't help but notice how good Hermione looked in her jeans, or how those little wisps of hair fell perfectly onto her slender neck…._SNAP OUT OF IT! _Draco thought to himself, starting to vigorously destroy a head of lettuce.

He and Hermione worked in virtual silence for around five minutes. Neither one of them said a word, but the kitchen was filled with the clicks, hisses, and sizzles associated with cooking. Finally, just as Draco was about to call the silence 'unsettling', Hermione set down her wooden spoon. "I always listen to music when I'm cooking," she said firmly, glaring at Draco, "and I'm not stopping just because of you."

Walking brusquely out of the room, Draco slumped. _What did I do? _he thought. _It's not like I told her she couldn't play music…_Hermione came back in a few seconds later carrying the shiny device that she'd dropped on the floor earlier. _Ah_, _a muggle music device. Is she self-conscious?_

Another shiny box – this one bigger than the music device but smaller than the fridge – was sitting in the corner by the stove, and Hermione inserted the music device into it. Suddenly, the middle of a song started playing. Turning to face Draco, Hermione tilted her head. "This," she said, pointing to the small music device, "is an iPod. I can put all my muggle music on it and carry it around with me everywhere. This" – pointing to the larger box – "is a speaker. It allows me to play the music on my iPod very loudly. This is my favourite playlist of all time, so if you have a problem with my music, feel free to leave."

Draco shook his head. "This is a country song," he said, instantly recognizing the Florida George Line song 'Cruise'. "Why would I ever criticize a country song?"

Hermione didn't answer. Nodding slightly, she turned back to her sauce. Draco didn't think that she realized what she was doing, but a few seconds later Hermione started humming along. The blonde smiled as he tried a small taste of some strange mayonnaise dressing. She was so goddamn attractive.

The song came to an end and changed, and something inside of Draco tugged painfully. _This song_, he thought. _We danced to this song._ Flashes of skin, brown hair, dim lights, and a smile passed through Draco's mind. The smell of sawdust. The feel of her next to him.

Hermione obviously realized the same thing, and Draco watched as her posture re-stiffened and her muscles tightened again. Silently, she reached towards her iPod.

"Please don't skip this song," Draco said, very soft.

Strains of Lady Antebellum's "Friday Night" echoed through the room as Hermione stood, frozen, almost at her iPod, and Draco just stared at her back. "It's kind-of old, isn't it?" she said, painfully.

"Not really," Draco answered. "It's a pretty timeless song."

_She has this song on her 'favourite playlist of all time'. That has to mean something, doesn't it? Does she remember this song like I do? Would she think of me when it plays?….Probably not. _

Neither of them said anything, the song filling the room with its energetic notes that were much more than just notes. Still silent, Hermione took a small step back from the iPod and speaker. No one spoke until long after the song had come to an end.

"Are you almost done the salad?" Hermione asked too loudly, picking up her spoon and stirring the sauce again.

"Almost," Draco answered, putting way too much enthusiasm into his response. He winced. "I just wanted to add some lemon to this dressing."

Hermione turned around, one of her eyebrows raised. _I taught her that, _Draco thought proudly. She looked over at the bowl Draco had in front of him, but the blonde pulled it closer to himself so that she couldn't see the contents. "Nuh-uh," he said, wagging his finger. "This is a surprise."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione crossed her arms. "Honestly," she sighed, pretending to be exasperated, the twinkle in her eyes giving her true emotions away, "how ridiculous can you be? It's a _salad_, Draco. Lettuce plus dressing equals fine."

_She said my name. _"Still!" he said out loud, "I want it to be a surprise."

Hermione smiled slightly before turning back to the stove and dropping the pasta into the boiling water. "Well, after you're done adding your lemon, go be useful;" she said lightly, "can you set the table for two? I never entertain, but I also never like to do dishes - there should be enough cutlery and such for just us."

Smiling, Draco did as she asked, attempting to make menial conversation that wouldn't offend Hermione. "So, did you hear about Luna and Rolf?" he said, looking for a second fork in a very messy drawer.

"No," she said, checking the pasta. "That is, not unless this is about their trip to Germany?"

"Aha, it's about what _happened _on their trip to Germany," Draco said, his voice dramatic.

"…and?" Hermione said, encouraging him to continue.

"Rolf proposed."

"No, really?!"

"Would I lie to you?" _Don't answer that_, Draco prayed. "The ring was apparently made out of genuine Lumpy-Thrumple-mined gold."

Hermione laughed, the sound reaching straight to Draco's heart and warming the cold, dead flesh. "Did Rolf actually know what a Lumpy-Thrumple was?"

"I assume so," Draco replied dryly, putting down the placemats and cutlery. "Apparently it's quite hard to come by. They're obviously a match made in heaven."

"I suppose the wedding is in England?" Hermione said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"I don't know," Draco said genuinely. "They're living together now, but I know that Luna wanted Rolf to wait until she graduates university and starts her work as a journalist."

"Weddings do take a lot of planning," Hermione supplemented, pouring the finished pasta into a strainer in the sink. "Hopefully they have it somewhere other than England."

"What's so bad about England?" Draco asked, covering his salad bowl with a cloth napkin. "It rains a lot, but other than that it's not too horrible."

"I'd rather not go back, if it's all the same to you," Hermione said, mixing the pasta with her elaborate sauce. "Too many ghosts, too many expectations."

"But it's not all the same to me," Draco said honestly. "There are lots of people who'd love to see you again, Hermione, even if it was just for a couple days at a wedding."

"Why wouldn't they just travel to America and stalk me?" Hermione said lightly, sort-of joking but sort-of not. "Apparently I'm not hard to find."

Draco shrugged. "I guess they just didn't care quite that much about you."

Silence filled the room, and Draco realized that he'd made everything awkward again. Hermione walked over to the table and set the bowl of pasta down, a forced smile on her face. "So," she said, obviously changing the subject. "Any news about Neville and Hannah?"

Draco smiled, sitting down at the small wooden table directly across from where Hermione sat. "They're happy and lovey-dovey, of course." He made it sound like he was bored and didn't care, but of course Hermione would be able to tell that he was genuinely happy for them. "They're both going on to study herbology at the wizarding branch of Cambridge – they're both eyeing some internship in South America."

"Are there two spots?" Hermione asked, scooping some pasta onto her plate. "It'd be lovely for them to work together rather than compete against one another."

Draco shrugged, reaching for the bowl. "I don't know. I haven't really had any in-depth conversations with them lately."

"Really?" Hermione seemed genuinely puzzled. "I thought that you and Neville were somewhat close."

Draco stayed silent, thinking of all the meals he had missed, all the times he'd yelled at or ignored those trying to help him, how Neville had eventually stopped trying. "The school year got busy," he said simply, putting the spoons back into the pasta bowl.

Hermione had obviously detected that Draco didn't want to talk about that, so she reached for the cloth-covered salad bowl. "I want to try this 'surprise salad'," she said, almost getting her hand around the rim.

Snatching the bowl away at the last moment, Draco made a 'tsk'ing noise. "No, Miss Granger, you may not," he said, putting on his most ridiculously arrogant expression.

"It's my bloody ingredients!" Hermione cried out. "I deserve to eat my own food, thank you very much!"

"And you shall," Draco answered, "just not like this. Close your eyes." Hermione raised her eyebrow, and Draco mimicked the action. "Close. Your. Eyes."

Hermione sighed, but did as he asked. "Fine," she said, "but if you pull any tricks I'm throwing you out onto the street."

Smiling, Draco lifted the cloth from the top of his salad. He speared a piece of lettuce, sure to get a bit of shredded carrot and some cheese on the fork too, before moving towards Hermione. "Now open your mouth," he said softly.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said, her brow furrowed.

"Dead serious," Draco said seriously. "Now open."

Tilting her head, annoyed, Hermione shook her head. "I don't like this," she said, obviously apprehensive.

"Trust me," Draco said lowly. "Just for a few seconds."

Hermione made no sound, but obediently opened her mouth ever so slightly. A grin split Draco's face as he moved forward and placed the food gently on top of Hermione's bottom lip. Her tongue flicked out slightly, feeling the edge of the lettuce, and Draco's heart rate skyrocketed. Slowly, he let her take the lettuce and withdrew the fork from her mouth, watching her expression carefully.

To put it in one word, Hermione looked delighted. She chewed, swallowed, and then her eyes shot open. "You made _that_ out of ingredients from my fridge?" she asked, amazed.

Draco nodded.

"No magic?"

"No magic."

"That's…incredible!" she exclaimed, reaching for the salad bowl.

Draco let her take it from him, her fingers just millimeters away from brushing his. _So close_. "Well, I did manage to pass my potions NEWTS, so I should be able to throw together a decent salad."

"This is more than decent," Hermione insisted, taking a third spoonful of salad. "This is wonderful. You should be a chef, you would make _zillions_."

"A zillion. Is that like a muggle galleon?" Draco asked, puzzled by the word.

Hermione's eyes grew wide, and she laughed. Not just a light, fluffy laugh; a huge, deep, stomach-hurting laugh that echoed around the small flat. After a few moments Draco joined her, his heart pumping blood through his body for what felt like the first time in months.

After that, the conversation flowed seamlessly. Draco talked about his potions mastery, and how he was studying with an esteemed Master who was good friends with Severus – he neglected to mention that this friend was American, but he assumed there would be time for that later. Hermione talked about her job, and how crazy her supervisor and her friends were, and how she loved working with the children. Eventually, she even talked about how she was adapting to living without magic, taking public transit and listening to her MePod and such. Draco chimed in occasionally, talking about life in England or someone that she wondered about, but mostly he was just content to listen to her voice. That beautiful voice that he hadn't heard in so long, the voice that was filling that painful hole inside of his soul.

The salad was finished first, then the pasta, then the biscuits that Hermione pulled out of a cupboard, and then water was sent to boil for tea. Hermione kept trying to find food, and Draco kept trying to make the food last longer; both of them knew that as soon as that ran out, either he would have to leave or they would have to talk about the topic they were both shirking around. Then who knew what would happen?

All they had was there and then, and neither of them ever wanted it to ever end.

Too soon, however, the teacups were empty and the dishes were done, the music still playing and the clock showing that it was now past one in the morning. "I guess…I guess I should be going," Draco said slowly, not moving to stand up from the table.

"Yeah," Hermione said, clasping her hands behind her neck and bending her head towards the table.

Silence. Then, suddenly, the song on the iPod changed; the opening chords of Hunter Hayes' 'Wanted' floated out into the kitchen, and Draco knew that this song was their song, the slow one that they'd danced to at the country bar. One of them had to talk, now, or the song would end and he would leave. Fate had dealt its hand, and they now just had to play it out.

Hermione was the first to speak. "Draco…."

"Yes?"

"Why did you come here?"

_Here comes the storm_, he thought, knowing it had to happen but wishing that they could just avoid it for longer. "What do you mean?" he asked, speaking slowly. "You asked me to stay for dinner -"

"I don't mean _here_, at my table," Hermione said quickly. "I mean _here_, America, looking for me. Did you get my letter?"

He could lie. But not to her. "….yes."

Hermione looked up, her eyes burning. "I specifically asked you _not _to come find me!" she said, her voice bitter. "Now it's all ruined."

"Ruined?" Draco said, a flare of anger in his chest. "How have I 'ruined it all', exactly?"

"I can't pretend anymore," Hermione blurted out, her anger suddenly replaced with sadness. "I just can't, it hurts too much."

"What are you pretending?" Draco snapped. "That I don't exist? That you didn't rip apart my heart when you left?"

"Don't you dare do this, Draco!" Hermione shouted, standing up and sending her chair flying out behind her. "I have been pretending every single day for nine months, one week, and two days that I can survive without you, that I don't need you, that I can be normal without your presence in my life! So don't you dare fucking talk to me about 'ripping'."

Draco wasn't expecting this, and couldn't find any words to reply.

Hermione took a deep breath, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were falling from her eyes. "Every single day," she said, her voice low, "I feel this hole inside of me where you aren't. It's like…like part of me is missing. And I know, _I know _that I could fill that hole with you, but I can't."

"Why not?" Draco interjected, emotions bubbling in his throat.

"Because I can't condemn you to a life of _this_," Hermione said, throwing her arms out to gesture the room around her. "A life of fridges, and zillions, and iPods…this isn't nearly good enough for you Draco. _I'm _not good enough for you, and you can't…you can't tie yourself to me. Please."

At that point she closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands. Silent sobs wracked her slightly-too-thin frame, and Draco's heart screamed at him to take her in his arms, to hold her forever.

For the first time in forever, Draco listened to his heart.

Pushing the chair back with a loud scrape, he walked up to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist. Electricity crackled between them, and Draco felt his soul sigh in contentment. _This, this is where you belong_, it said. _With her._

Hermione was stiff, her posture rigid. "Relax," Draco whispered, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear and sending shivers down her spine.

"I…I can't," she stammered, her voice thick from crying.

"What if I told you that you aren't condemning me?" Draco said softly, resting his cheek against hers. "What if I told you that I wanted to be with you just as badly as you wanted to be with me, that we could be unbearably happy living with your fridges and zillions and iPods?"

Hermione's crying had stopped, and she tentatively lowered her hands from her face. Red and swollen with tears, Hermione's brown eyes met his grey ones. "But…" she seemed to be searching for the words. "...this isn't your _world_," she finally said. "Your world is filled with magic, and leisure, and England. I don't – I _can't _belong in that world anymore." Her eyes darted down to the ground.

"But _I _can belong to your world," Draco said softly, lifting his hand and running his thumb over her cheek. "I _want _to belong to whatever world you're in, no matter what world that is. Hermione, I want – I need to be with you."

Hermione looked back up at him, searching for honesty in his eyes. "You shouldn't do this Draco," she whispered, "not for me. There has to be someone else for you, someone better."

"There can never be someone else for me," Draco said firmly, placing a hand behind Hermione's head and drawing her closer to him. "You, Hermione Granger, are my soulmate, and I am going to spend the rest of my life with you and your fridges and zillions and iPods."

Closing the remaining space between them, Hermione lifted her head until her lips met Draco's. The kiss was fabulously honest, filled with anger, tears, ecstatic joy, and love. When the two finally broke apart, Hermione had her arms flung around Draco's shoulders. Her lips red and swollen, she looked up at the man across from her. "You won't regret this?" she asked tentatively. "You won't think this is the wrong choice?"

Draco shook his head, leaning his forehead against hers. "Hermione," he whispered, "loving you is the best choice I've ever made."

Their lips met once more, and right there, in that moment, both Hermione and Draco were given exactly what they wanted; one another, their love, and a fresh start.

_**THE END**_

_A/N: That's it everyone! Epilogue coming in the next couple of weeks, hopefully. Thanks so much for your support, and hopefully you're happy with where Hermione and Draco ended up. :) Please R&R to let me know what you think, how you feel, how much you hate me - all that jazz. I'd like to thank each and every one of you for reading my work, and I'd like to extend my deepest thanks to JKR for her beautiful writing and the world that she created. _

_And, also, as a quick note - the songs mentioned in this chapter don't belong to me. They're all amazing songs, and I recommend that you listen to them, but they belong to Lady Antebellum, Florida Georgia Line, and Hunter Hayes. _

_I cannot thank you all enough for your time. Hopefully I'll get another story up soon, should the muse grace me once more. Until the next time we journey back to Hogwarts: ~sneakyslytherin_


	26. Epilogue

"Good afternoon, love."

"I bloody hate you Draco Malfoy."

_Well_, thought Draco, smiling to himself, _obviously her mood has improved from this morning. She's not swearing anymore._

"What, is there nothing on TV?" the blonde asked, closing the front door behind him and flinging his jacket onto the insanely burdened coat stand.

"Shut it!" Hermione called from the living room, sounding tired and angry. "You know that after two o'clock there's nothing on but Jeopardy and re-runs of Ellen. Jesus…"

"Don't you like Ellen?" Draco mused, sliding off his dress shoes.

"I _liked _Ellen," Hermione corrected him, still shouting from across the flat. "I'm pretty sure that I've seen every single bloody interview of hers by now. Two weeks. _Two weeks _doing nothing but watching telly…"

Draco chuckled, carding his fingers through his hair and examining himself in the hallway mirror. Working life in America agreed with him; he'd lost his unhealthily white complexion – although he was still a bit pale – and he'd officially thrown his container of hair gel into the rubbish. He was beginning to get small creases at the edge of his ever-blue eyes, but he blamed those on smiling too much.

"Did you pick up any Mars Bars?" Hermione called out, barely hiding the outright, desperate plea in her question.

"Was I supposed to pick some up?" Draco asked, feigning surprise as he fingered the chocolate bars in his suit jacket pocket.

A loud groan echoed through the walls of the apartment. "Jesus," she moaned, sounding absolutely bereft. "I've been looking forward to that all day."

"You only called me to ask for them an hour ago," Draco laughed, walking through the hallway and turning left into the kitchen. A small tuft of brown, frizzy hair was barely visible over the back of the sofa, and the television was projecting muted images of the (apparently hated) television talk show host.

"But that was _forever _ago!" Hermione protested, sounding particularly petulant and sarcastic. "Honestly, you had one job."

"And you don't have _any_ job right now," Draco replied, continuing his approach to the couch.

"Oi, don't make me mad," she warned, lifting a hand ominously. "My hormones are going crazy right now, you don't want to set me off." Draco smiled. "Plus," she continued, obviously a little bit irritated by Draco's comment, "I'd say it's a pretty big job to carry around _your _offspring for nine months. I mean really, I feel like I'm carrying around an anvil on my hips."

Finally rounding the couch, Draco got a full view of his beautifully pregnant – and decidedly rumpled –wife. She was wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, the grey fabric straining over her rather expanded stomach, the waist of her maternity shorts visible against the cotton. Her face was tired, but her eyes were just as lively as ever, sparking with stubbornness and that wonderful passion available only to Hermione. Pulled back into a half-hearted ponytail, her hair had already managed to work its way back down to her shoulders, curling in delightful tendrils that rested lightly on her collarbones and cheeks. She was barefoot, her legs stretched out on the couch beside her, ankles wrapped in towels.

Hermione obviously noticed Draco looking at her feet. "What?" she protested. "My ankles hurt, and the towels are under a freezing charm. Can't a pregnant woman at least _try _to relax?"

A frown clouded Draco's face. "You aren't feeling tired, are you?" he asked, leaning down and pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. "You could've asked me to set the charm, you know, I don't want you -"

"Oh, shut it," Hermione said, waving her hand weakly. "It's just a freezing charm. I'm not going to overextend myself. Besides, last week I managed that animate charm, remember?"

Draco's eyebrows furrowed. Yes, he remembered the animate charm. Hermione had been hungry, but her back had been hurting too much for her to move. With him at work at the apothecary's, she'd taken the initiative to animate a blanket so that it could fetch her snacks from the fridge. When Draco came home, Hermione had been well fed, incredibly excited at her own success, and ridiculously exhausted; she'd fallen asleep within ten minutes of him arriving. It was true that her magical core was growing stronger as the baby matured – something about an 'increase in earth magic' that Hermione had read about – but it still wasn't smart for Hermione to exhaust her core on something so trivial.

Draco noticed Hermione wince and watched her hand twitch almost imperceptibly towards her back. "Let me," he whispered, pulling out his wand from his back pocket.

Hermione's pale fingers rested lightly on his wand, stopping him. "No magic, remember?" she said softly.

"It's just a pain relieving spell," Draco insisted, meeting her eyes, pleading. "This is something that I can do to help, it won't interfere with the baby."

"You can help me without magic," she insisted, placing her extended hand lightly on his cheek. Draco shivered pleasantly as her fingers lightly traced his skin, welcoming the wonderful tingle that he felt when they touched. After five years, it still felt as magical as when they first accidentally brushed one another's skin.

Draco didn't even need to ask what he should do to help her. Gingerly, he lifted her upper body off the couch and slid down into the small vacated space. Then, just as carefully, he lowered her back onto his lap, taking most of her weight off of her spine. Hermione sighed contentedly, a smile wrapping itself around her features. "Thank you," she breathed, her words causing strands of her hair to sway back and forth.

Tenderly, Draco brushed the errant curls back behind her ears. Even when her face was long-cleared of stray hairs, he continued to lightly stroke her skin. She seemed to glow in the light, her closed eyelids fluttering. "You look beautiful," Draco said, knowing that he was grinning like a fool.

Hermione snorted, unladylike but still perfect in Draco's mind. "Flattery will get you nowhere Mister Malfoy," she replied, placing her hand overtop of his, her eyes still closed.

"On the contrary," Draco said, carefully reaching into his pocket to retrieve the coveted chocolate bars. "Flattery gets you _everything_, Mrs Malfoy."

Tantalizingly, Draco waved the sealed Mars Bar inches away from Hermione's nose. Her eyes snapped open, and she nearly crowed with delight. "You didn't forget!" she exclaimed. "I knew it!" Sitting up – _too quickly_, Draco thought, panicking a little – Hermione placed a quick kiss on Draco's cheek, her lips lingering for a second longer than any chaste kiss.

"How could I ever forget?" Draco said, smiling, pressing a light kiss to Hermione's lips. She responded, deepening the kiss, wrapping her fingers in Draco's hair and pulling their heads even closer. Draco almost seemed to growl, running his tongue lightly over Hermione's closed lips….

…and she pulled away. Flushed and breathing heavily, Hermione placed her hand lightly over Draco's slightly swollen lips. "Hormones," she said, breathy and a bit dazed sounding. "Bloody hormones."

Draco grinned roguishly, kissing the hand that Hermione left over his lips. "Maybe I like these hormones," he whispered, leaning into her palm.

"Whoah, slow down there, Slytherin," Hermione said, lying back down onto Draco's lap – effectively out of his reach.

"What?" Draco said, a bit exasperated (but not really).

"You haven't even heard my news yet," she said coquettishly, tilting her head.

"….and?" Draco said flatly, not falling for the bait.

Hermione shook her head, smiling. "So, you already know that Catherine has agreed to be the doctor for the birth…"

"…yes…."

"…and that Abigail wants the girl to be a flower girl at her wedding to Marcus…."

"…yes. Is there any real news from today?"

"Patience, Draco. Harry called."

Draco didn't miss a beat. "Ah, yes. We're revisiting this godfather issue, aren't we?"

Sighing, Hermione rubbed her temples. "Yes. Despite the fact that _both of us _want him to be the godfather, he keeps insisting that he's not the right one for it. I mean, I don't know _why_, he'd be a brilliant godfather…."

"Don't stress yourself," Draco insisted, stilling her anxious hands. "I'm sure he'll come around."

"I hope so," Hermione sighed. Tentatively, she continued; "…and mum called with more name ideas."

Draco groaned. Mrs Granger was a very nice lady – really, she was! – but they just didn't have the heart to tell her that they'd picked names already. "Are any of them good enough to make the list?" he asked, trying not to sound too impatient.

Hermione shook her head. "Nope," she said, taking a big bite of her chocolate bar and reaching for a yellow notepad sitting on the table. "So far, the top names for the girl are Mary Grace, Taryn, and Sophia. I still like the middle name Narcissa…it's so pretty…"

Draco smiled slightly. "Have the boy names changed?"

"Nope. Still Aaron, Russell, and Hugh."

"Aaron Greer Malfoy still sounds the best," Draco insisted, knowing that the use of Hermione's alias as a middle name would forever be meaningful to the two of them.

"And I like Sophia Narcissa Malfoy," Hermione replied, "but you know that my opinion will change in the next thirty minutes."

Draco nodded and rolled his eyes, knowing all too well how quickly his wife's opinion would change. Suddenly, he heard a gasp, and watched as the half-eaten Mars Bar fell to the floor. Immediately, images of hospitals and blood and screams flooded his mind, the pictures all-too painful. _We're only at eight months, _he thought, slowing down his rapid thoughts. _This can't be the birth_.

"What's wrong?" he said, only a slight trace of alarm in his voice.

"Ugh, nothing much," Hermione moaned, arching against Draco's lap. "They're kicking in unison again."

"Both of them? Together"

"Mmm-hmm. They're even targeting the same bloody spot. I tell you, they're going to be worse that the Weasley twins when they finally arrive in this world."

Draco watched as Hermione's contorted grimace slowly eased into an expression of fatigue and resignation. "Here," she said, grabbing the hand that he was resting on the armrest of the couch. "Feel."

Placing his pale, slender hand overtop of her distended stomach, Hermione's smile cut a ray of sunshine through the tired air of the apartment. Not daring to move, to breathe, to think, Draco left his hand exactly where Hermione had placed it. Just about ready to pull away, almost at that point where he thought, _No, not for me, not today_, he felt a jolt. He'd felt his children kick before, but every single time became more magical than the last; Draco still couldn't believe that something so precious and beautiful could be in any way connected to him. It was as if he was living in a dream, a life that wasn't his own. "Who was that?" he asked playfully, his voice cracking.

Hermione smiled. "I think that's the girl," she said, obviously watching Draco's happy and terrified expression.

"How do you know?" he asked, feeling the rhythm under his fingertips.

Hermione shrugged. "That one puts more gusto into its kick, implying that it's stubborn and impatient. So, that definitely sounds like our girl."

Draco grinned, looking up at his gorgeous, unique wife. "You really do look beautiful," he insisted, lifting his hand from Hermione's moving stomach and placing it overtop of her heart.

Hermione smiled and placed her hand on top of his. "And you really do look handsome," she said, sounding suddenly tired. "Do…do you think that we're ready for this Draco? I mean, we signed on for one, and now we have two, and your job at the apothecary and mine at the hospital -"

"Hush," Draco said, placing his hand over her lips. "Whether we're ready for it or not, we'll face it together, okay?"

Nodding, sleepy, Hermione replied "Mmkay."

Draco leaned down and gave Hermione one last kiss on the lips, her delayed responses indicating that she was drifting ever so surely into sleep. "Good night, my love," Draco whispered, watching her features relax.

"Good night," Hermione mumbled, burrowing her face into Draco's chest. "…love you."

"I love you too," Draco whispered.

Hermione's slowed breathing indicated that she'd slipped into sleep, and Draco brushed a stray curl behind her ears, just watching her. A few moments later he, too, felt the strain of his day weighing on his mind, his eyelids drooping slowly and his head nodding. _But I have to write out that order, and dinner has to be made, and_ –

Draco's thoughts were cut off as Hermione sighed, turning herself slightly so that her head was nestled against Draco's shoulder. A smile fluttered over her sleeping lips, and her hand meandered subconsciously to her swollen stomach. Draco felt a smile creeping up his own face as he watched his beautiful wife. Placing his hand beside hers, feeling the taut, warm skin beneath the t-shirt, he was trying to imagine the life blossoming just beneath his fingertips. Settling down with Hermione still on his lap, his hand on her stomach, Draco drifted leisurely into sleep.

As his breathing calmed, his heartbeat slowed into synchronization with the three other heartbeats in the room. If time were a living thing, this would have been a moment where it would have pulled out its camera and snapped a picture; her head on his shoulder, his head resting against the couch, both of their hands feeling the miniature heartbeats beneath them.

In that photograph, Time would have seen the family's imperfections and flaws – but Time would have also seen the beauty, strength, and love embodied by the two parents. It would have known that no matter what confronted them, this family would survive. At some points it may be rough, but they would endure the hardships they may face.

After all, a family based on a love as strong and as pure as that of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger was sure to be beautiful, unique, and thoroughly magical.

_Finite Incantatem. _


End file.
